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Chapter Text

"What be wrong wit 'em?!" Jud despaired to Prudie in the kitchen.
A strange mood had fallen over Nampara. Ross and Dem were moody, snappish, surly and quiet by turns. Prudie set a cup of tea in front of him. He took a sip as she sat down with her own. She began sugaring her tea.
"They got spring nippin' at 'em too hard." she answered, sagely. Jud sputtered a bit as he swallowed.
"Eh?!" His eyebrows went up. Prudie stirred her tea with her spoon.
"Don't look so shocked. She be old enough. She be old enough and they both d' know it!"
"T'ain't right!" Jud was surprised by Prudie's attitude. Prudie stopped sipping her tea.
"It d' make the world go round." She snickered. " What you creenin' on anyway? You had at it wi' me and I not but fifteen!" Jud sat back in his chair and gave a wicked laugh.
"Heh, heh, you was a mature fifteen..." They exchanged a look. Prudie resumed drinking her tea.
"Mark my words, there'll be no peace 'til they do," she set her cup in her saucer and gave Jud a straightforward look.
"They be spoilin' for it."

I. Let It be True

It was late. Ross was playing his guitar in the parlor. He was sleepless and agitated. His practice was giving him no satisfaction tonight...movement in the room. "Dem?" Ross looked at her as she entered and then averted his eyes to look at his guitar. The shadow of her nipples could be seen through her tee shirt, her legs bare and long underneath her skirt.
"I couldn't sleep." She said.
"Do you want to play?" Things were becoming strange between them. He'd asked her that hundreds of times, why did it ring so suggestive to him now? She crossed the room to retrieve the maple Gibson. She sat across from him at the other pew. The swell of her hips as she sat, her waist no longer angular.
"The moon's full..." she said, absently. Is that why she felt so restless and strange?
"Perhaps some fresh air would be a good thing." Ross said. They did not bother with their shoes. They left the parlor and walked through the house to the front door. The moon was huge and cast a bright light over everything. They settled on the benches outside, facing each other as they usually did but somehow shy about it tonight. Two guitarists who took pride in their ability to play without looking at their hands sat, primly, looking at their fingering. They were playing a Spanish piece they had been working on. Demelza looked up at Ross and wondered, was he shy for the same reason she was? She resumed looking at her fingering and had a think. She would dare, she thought. She started playing the opening to The Beatles, 'Something' and looked up. They were looking at each other now. Ross smiled, 'You little...' he thought. "You take the high end." he said.
They began again, dovetailing their playing to compliment the other. Demelza took pains to play her best without looking like she was trying to show off. She wanted Ross to see that she had learned her techniques at his feet and had mastered them. Ross and Demelza looked at each other as they played. Ross felt strangely calm. That Dem chose the most romantic Beatles song was not lost on him. It gave him hope. He felt the tension between them and knew full well what had been eating at them recently. He resisted his feelings, having been her guardian for so long. But Demelza had given him an opening to pursue and a window to her feelings. He had no hesitation singing George Harrison's lyrics. Ross meant them. He looked into Demelza's eyes as he sang.

'Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me'

Ross' smile grew wider, wasn't he being wooed?

'I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how'

They placed the cascade of notes that proceeded the next lyrics. Demelza felt over warm suddenly. She slid her fingernail on the string, like a bottle slide, as she played to accompany his ascending notes. Ross' eyebrow raised, he was impressed. She blushed.

'Somewhere in her smile she knows'

Demelza averted her eyes.

'That I don't need no other lover'

Ross plucked a clear note, like a bell, that startled her to look up again. He jutted his chin a little, his smile and eyes lit with mischief. She did not look away.

'Something in her style that shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how'

The ascending notes returned. Demelza took up the next part, singing in a clear voice to the moon, to the stars, to Ross, his eyes lit with a dark fire.

'You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around, now it may show
I don't know, I don't know'

They played the stately, elegant break together and Ross looked at his West Country girl, this woman in front of him, this woman he had come to love.
"Play D, Dem." he said. Ross changed his fingers to hold a different set of notes and like a magic trick, on his six string, with the help of Demelza's D chord, the opening chord of A Hard Day's Night rang out. They paused. Demelza's eyes widened with surprise and softened. The night became silent around them. The stars seemed to brighten around them. It was as if Ross had given her a bouquet of red roses. He had teased her with that Beatles chord, but he had honoured her too. He smiled with pride. He was proud of her. Dem was a guitarist in her own right, having come so far from her beginnings. And, in the same way it took both of their effort to perform that chord, they needed each other. Facing each other, holding their guitars, their looks of admiration had subtly changed to that of open longing. Ross could admit to himself that he wanted her and Demelza craved his touch. Ross cleared his throat, blinked himself out of his reverie and nodded to her. They would continue. they resumed playing. Ross sang,

'Something in the way she knows
And all I have to do is think of her...'

Demelza took off her guitar and set it on the bench. Ross stopped singing though he kept playing. She crossed the small distance between them and bent forward, over his guitar as his fingers froze in place on the strings. She gently pressed her lips to his. She looked down at him. He looked up at her. Slowly, he pulled the guitar strap over his head and set his guitar to the side. Demelza smiled as she started to step backwards.
"You can't catch me..." she teased.
Ross smiled as he stood. The grass felt warm under foot, how would it feel as their bed...? They exchanged very knowing smiles as she walked backwards and he advanced. She turned and skipped a little before looking over her shoulder, briefly, and then ran towards the Long Field. He laughed and a shiver went down Demelza's spine. Ross' laugh seemed to say "Oh, I'll get you all right..."
They bound across the field and he caught her up and started kissing her neck. She turned and he kissed her face, her lips. He nudged her mouth open with his tongue and she sighed into his mouth as they kissed passionately, their hands strayed all over each other. Ross pulled off her tee shirt and looked at her breasts in the moonlight. She was a woman. Dem pulled at Ross' shirt and he helped her by pulling it over his head. He was a man. They pulled themselves out of their clothes. With the moon's glow upon them, they stood facing each other. Naked and needing each other.
"Demelza."
"Ross."
They dropped to their knees and he lay her down in the grass.

In the tall grass of the Long Field, laying in a nest of their own clothes, drawing their fingers over each other's bodies, threading them through each other's hair, Ross rolled atop Demelza and began loving her again as the sun blessed them the way the moon had done. They would marry. Ross and Demelza would wed, but it was just a formality. They were true wed in the grass of Nampara. The moon, the stars and the sun were their witness, their choir and their priest.

II. Whatsoever love hath ordained it is not fit to despise

At Nampara, a door slammed. Giggling could be heard. Demelza burst into the parlor holding a guitar and clutching a hand full of cornflowers. She gasped and went rigid as Ross caught her about the waist and pressed his lips to her neck before he froze as he looked up. Seated on the pew by the hearth, facing them with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with shock was Elizabeth. Demelza dropped her flowers. Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to them as they scattered across the patterned rug at Demelza's feet.
Elizabeth and Ross were a couple in a different place and time. Ross had kissed her and, occasionally, squeezed her in interesting places but they were gentry for all their Mod leanings. One did not soil the merchandise before it was bought. Elizabeth had assumed they would marry and she would know Ross' ardor in time. Ross would not have dragged her into the grass and carried on with her as he had clearly done with his little groupie. Elizabeth had ignored all the gossip around this girl over the years but the truth of it now was plain to see. Their feet were bare and filthy, hastily dressed, clover and grass on their clothes, in their hair, Ross had a flower stuck in his hair, for pity's sake... Ross stood up straight and pulled the maple Gibson from Dem's hand. He gave her a smile before crossing the room to set both guitars back on their stands. Demelza watched Elizabeth's eyes widen. She had seen the smudges of soil on Ross' elbows and forearms as he set the guitars down. Her eyes suddenly flicked toward her and she bore Elizabeth's withering gaze.
Elizabeth looked at the girl, ginger hair in all directions, spindly legs, the shadow of her nipples through her shirt -no brassiere!- a little street girl, that's what people had said. Ross sent her to Hempel, of all places! Ross turned to face Elizabeth, who had unwittingly thrown cold water over something very beautiful. He thought of how different she and Demelza were. Elizabeth so cool and elegant. Demelza so warm and wild. Both women, but one of porcelain, fragile and translucent. One put milk first so the cup would not crack from the heat of the tea. One of earthenware. Generous and sturdy. A Cornish cup full of promise and with a warmth one could feel as it was held in hand. These two women who held his regard...
"Elizabeth." Ross was not expecting a visit and certainly not Elizabeth who rarely came to Nampara. What was she doing here?
Elizabeth, who dared to see if Ross still fancied her, bored in her marriage and curious to see if there were still embers here, got more than she'd bargained for.
"Hello, Ross. I thought I would stop by but I see I've come at a bad time." Ross bore her stern disapproval. She could not have believed all the gossip around him and Demelza but, clearly, she had seen enough today to change her mind. The fact that it had not been true until last night would hold no sway. They had been each others for a little under six hours and now a worm had crept in. The tittle tattle that made what had been lovely a little tarnished now. Elizabeth stood and started to pluck bits of grass out of Ross' hair. He closed his eyes as if he were being reprimanded and when he opened them they exchanged a look Demelza could not decipher. Demelza winced inwardly. Elizabeth felt free enough to do that, to have claim over him still and that Ross would stand so cowed by her. Demelza bit her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry. Elizabeth was a lady and she was a slag. She shrugged off that insult many times over the years but it was only now she had cause to feel it might be true. Ross felt Elizabeth's scorn of him. Her eyes were cold towards him. Elizabeth made a move to pluck away the cornflower Dem had tucked behind Ross' ear and he grabbed her wrist. He did not speak. The slight tilt of his head. Having accepted her censure up to this point, he made it clear she had now overstepped. A look of warning in his eyes. A look of derision in Elizabeth's. "It's wilting already." said Elizabeth, "Cornflowers are like that." He released her and she stepped away. She glanced briefly at Demelza again and the flowers at her feet...her soiled knees...'She'll last about as long as those flowers...' thought Elizabeth. Demelza looked to Ross, all wide eyed and pathetically grateful that he protected her daffy, little, half dead, cornflower...'It's too late,' thought Elizabeth, 'Too late for me to come here...'
"I'll take my leave." she said. Elizabeth crossed the parlor with one last glance at Demelza, who had the grace to look as ashamed as she ought to. As she crossed through the doorway, Elizabeth pronounced her judgement upon them,
"You would do well to have a wash," she sniffed, "You two look like a pair of homeless buskers."
Demelza bowed her head, and looked sorrowful. The playful happiness they'd had, evaporated. Ross was incensed. He crossed the room to stand by her side. He leaned his head close to her, he put his arm around her. "No, Dem. Don't listen to her. Elizabeth is wrong." He nestled his face close to hers. He smelled grass and her skin and even himself on her as they'd kissed and caressed so much. She looked at Ross, wide eyed and so in love with him. She wanted to hold the magic of their night and forget Elizabeth's visit. Ross kissed her gently. "We should have a bath though..." There was mischief in his voice and she giggled. He was glad of it. He took her by the hand and they left the parlor. They turned into the hall only to be met by Jud. Jud who had known both of them from childhood. This was as close to being found out by a parent as could be for both Ross and Dem and they smiled sheepishly as he looked them up and down.
"Lord above, the goings on!" He called out "Prudie!!" Ross hid his face on Demelza's shoulder, in her hair. "Oh god..." Ross complained. They were not going to get away with a thing. Demelza laughed and meekly waited for Jud and Prudie to have their say. Ross felt a bit rebellious as he heard Prudie's footfall. He lifted his head and stood behind Dem, wrapping his arms around her as if she was a possession he would not share. He gave a sidelong glance to her, cheek to cheek.
"This is tyranny, Dem!" He narrowed his eyes, in mock annoyance, at Jud. "Why can't a man have it off with his woman in his own home without everyone else putting in their two pence about it?!" Demelza laughed and turned in his arms to hug him. He had called her 'his woman'. Prudie came in as Jud countered,
"If 'n ee had yer woman in yer house instead of rolling around in the grass like them bloody hippies on the telly!"
At that Prudie put her hands on her hips and gave a full throated laugh ending in a wicked cackle. By frolicking in the meadow with a vengeance, Ross and Demelza had exceeded her expectations.
"What I d'say Jud Paynter! Spring got at 'em sure as eggs is eggs!" Ross kissed Demelza's cheek and rested his chin on her shoulder. Demelza ducked her chin and smiled. They both blushed a little. He had his arms around her and they looked very sweet. The Paynters looked at them fondly. Jud shook off his sentimentality, as if it wouldn't do to be seen as soppy. "Pah!" He gestured at them with his hand "What would Mistress Grace make of them two do you reckon?" Dem felt Ross go still. She turned in his arms to see him looking at Prudie the way an anxious little boy might. Ross was invested in the answer. Prudie grew serious, lifted her chin, looked at them this way and that. Then she smiled.
"I reckon she'd say, 'He met his match.'" Ross closed his eyes and snuggled around Demelza tighter. Prudie had made him happy. Jud and Prudie tut tutted in a teasing way as they retreated to other parts of the house. Ross gave Demelza another kiss on the neck. "Shall we go upstairs?" Something in his voice promised a bit more than a bath. She retrieved the cornflower in his hair so it could be pressed between the pages of a book and smiled mischievously as she answered,
"Ais."

Chapter Text

I. Going To The Chapel

Ross sat on the floor of the parlor, leaning his head back on the seat of one of the older benches by the windows. Demelza sat on his lap with her head nestled close to his neck. They had tasted every inch of each other and found it good. They had slept in Ross' bed, night after night, since their first night in the Long Field and found that good. Ross asked Dem to marry him, and she said yes, which they both found very good indeed. Much like the day four years ago, when they had come upon Ross after he'd kicked heroin, Ned and Dwight entered the parlor. Ross sat, in his boots and his jeans and his half buttoned shirt but, this time, they were brought up short by seeing Dem in his arms. Ned crowed, "Pay up, Enys!" Ross' mouth fell open as Dwight rummaged in his pocket and produced two pound notes that he handed to Ned while rolling his eyes. Ned laughed merrily. Ross looked at them in disbelief. "You had a bet going?" Dem started giggling and hid her face behind her hair. "Yep! And I won!" said Ned, waving the money over his head. Ross looked at Dwight, still shocked. "You thought we wouldn't?" Dwight smiled, "I thought you wouldn't before Christmas!" he gave them a wry smile. They all laughed. Dem turned to look at Ned and Dwight with a blush on each cheek as they smiled fondly on them both. "It's only right..." said Ned as he sat by the hearth, "...I don't think Ross would have approved of any other lad gettin' at her!" Dwight and Ned bent double laughing. Ross ducked his head and smiled. He deserved that. They weren't wrong. Ross recovered his equilibrium. "Miss Carne has agreed to let me make an honest woman of her." Demelza and Ross smiled at each other while Ned and Dwight clapped applause. "Congratulations!" said Dwight. "Aw, Dem, Mrs. Poldark! Good on ya both!" Ned smiled. So it was, after the prescribed period of 28 days notification, with an application on which they dared to forge Tom Carne's signature, a sextet of happy people walked toward Caxton Hall, in London, to see Ross and Dem made spouses in the eyes of the law. Caxton was a register office that had been the site where union rallies were held, the place where Winston Churchill held press conferences during World War II, the meeting place for suffragettes, from 1907 onward as they met and marched from that site to try to deliver a petition to the Prime Minister-always rebuffed. In 1910, Aleister Crowley staged six weeks of a performance called 'The Rites of Eleusis', but Caxton's rites these days were known for the weddings of many famous actresses and performers. Ross and Demelza were not, at this point, what anyone would consider famous, though Resurgam had a bit of success. Ross chose it simply because he had heard of it and he didn't relish marrying in Cornwall where they'd have to withstand a hailstorm of gossip in any event. No point in having their wedding at the center of the maelstrom. There would be time enough for all that after the fact. They would marry and celebrate without small minded talk about them, thought Ross. They approached the venue along with many of the other small groups of couples and their well wishers. Admittedly, the Poldark party was, perhaps, more eye catching than the others. Ross wore a dark blue suit but his dark hair had grown to a length that could not be considered respectable in more conservative circles. Dwight and Ned were also formally attired but had the faint suggestion of the rock musician in their mien as well. Verity, who had requested the help of her co worker, Andrew Blamey, an avid photographer, to take pictures for the couple, walked on Andrew's arm in a Foale and Tuffin paisley dress, long and in dark purple tones that brought out the prettiness of her eyes and the dark gloss of her hair in a somewhat Edwardian looking updo and dark green court shoes. Blamey's suit was dark green as well with his black leather camera case around his neck and carrying a collapsible tripod that looked a bit like a folded umbrella. They looked quite smart together. Then there was the bride. Demelza wore a long, ivory lace gown from a London boutique called Biba. It had a tall portrait collar, like a column around her neck with a long zipper down the back that was sewn in such a way that the teeth of it could not be seen. It had short, fluttery lace sleeves and skimmed down her body to the hem at her feet, at once tightly fitted, but a relaxed, fuller skirt cascading down. She had borrowed a handkerchief from Verity that was embroidered with bluebells, so that served as her 'something borrowed and blue' together. Her tights were her 'something old'. White tights that bore a smudge of dirt from Garrick's affection, obscured by the length of the dress, and her ivory court shoes were 'something new'. She held a small bunch of white roses. Dem had no veil but a rose was tucked in her hair with a bit of greenery around it. A fern frond and a glossy, dark rose leaf. Ross, Dwight, Ned and Andrew-not to be left out-had a white rose as a boutonniere. With Caxton Hall having such a reputation for hosting weddings of renown among the celebrity set, it was not unusual for freelance photographers to keep an eye on the place, in case there was a scoop to be had. As it happened, on this fair and pretty July day, with enough breeze to be pleasant rather than hot, a couple of photographers were present and intrigued by the small knot of posh looking hippies and took some snaps-just to be on the safe side. While they were inside, a quick call around had informed them that the groom was an EMI signed rock musician and his band's record was a modest success. They would wait to try and get better pictures as they left. They waited their turn inside with the other small groups, all with the same happy look of hope and excitement on their faces. Demelza and Verity sat on a bench as the men stood around them. They found it hard to make small talk. The expectation and waiting made them all quietly pleased. Ross and Dem were very smitten looking and the tension in their faces was borne of anticipation rather than fear. Verity smiled upon them. Initially surprised when Ross told her that they would marry, she was glad for them. Ross had been a difficult, lost soul when he returned from America and meeting Demelza had freed him to start changing for the better. He'd pulled himself out of the destructive path he seemed bent on following after her brother, Francis, married Elizabeth. Dem had given him hope and it was clear they loved each other. The marriage was no makeshift. Ross was taken with his young friend in a way that made Verity pleased. Demelza was lovely and they knew each other well. Many marriages had been built on less.

"Ross Poldark?"
They turned to the voice that had called out. A clerk beckoned Ross over to him. Ross gave Demelza's hand a little squeeze and he walked with the clerk to an alcove in a different hall, still in sight but not within earshot. Their heads bent together. The clerk spoke to Ross in hushed tones. They could see a smile spread on Ross' face even though there was a look of annoyance in his eyes. Ross gently pressed his fingers on the man's shoulder as he whispered an answer. They watched in befuddlement as all the blood drained out of the clerk's face. They stepped apart and the clerk nodded 'yes' before scurrying away, back into the office he'd come from. Ross returned, amused by the five confused expressions that greeted him.
"Is it our turn?" asked Demelza. Ross smiled.
"Not yet, but it will be soon."

They exited Caxton Hall as Mr. and Mrs. Ross Vennor Poldark, as officially witnessed by Edward Despard and Verity Poldark with Dwight Enys and Andrew Blamey in attendance. Having chosen a nice portion of the building to pose against, Andrew set about photographing the newly minted married couple, first by themselves and then with their guests. In a move that could be seen as flirtatious, Andrew, plying Verity with compliments over her dress, insisted that there be a picture of just her, once he'd taken pictures of her standing with Demelza as a pair. Unbeknownst to them all, three freelance photographers surreptitiously marked the occasion as well. Having been tipped off by the other two, a fellow who often worked with New Music Express came along as well to get a snap.
They had a sumptuous lunch in a restaurant and then went back to the flat where Dwight and Ned each provided a bottle of champagne, Andrew gave Ross a good bottle of brandy, with his compliments and Verity provided a small, two tier cake from a bakery-all white roses and swooping buntings of frosting with two guitar picks stuck in the top next to a small pair of plastic doves in a frilly little bower. There was a toast and cake as they played rock music at a discreet volume on a player in the lounge. Verity and Demelza brought their champagne into the garden as the gentlemen sat enjoying Andrew's gifted brandy in the lounge.
"Oh, Verity...!" Dem leaned her head back in the garden chair, her heart too full to say anything more. Verity smiled.
"I hope you will be very happy together!"
They clinked their glasses. Dem smiled conspiratorially, "Andrew seems very nice!" Verity blushed a little and it made Dem happy to see it. "Yes, Andrew is very nice." agreed Verity. They clinked their champagne glasses again. Let us there be happiness and good luck for us all, thought Demelza.
On the way back from the loo, Ned saw Verity and Dem chatting and having a toast of their own through the glass doors of the kitchen. He rejoined the others. "Verity looks a picture today..." hoping to get and receiving a bashful smile from Andrew. Ross' eyebrow raised. His lips twitched a smile as he nodded to Blamey and raised his brandy glass in his direction. Dwight, who had not caught the flavour of Ned's remark was more interested in Caxton.
"What did that clerk say to you earlier, Ross?"
"Yes!" said Andrew, "What was that about?"
Having smiled long enough to gather their attention, Ross said,
"Some very helpful, anonymous person called to say that our application was forged."
"What?!" Dwight said. Ned and Andrew's mouths fell open. Dwight recovered himself.
"You told him it wasn't?"
"No!" Ross said, "I wasn't going to lie! What if they looked in to it more?" Ned was agog.
"You mean to say it WAS forged?!" Ross gave a bark of a laugh.
"Of course it was! Do you think I'd waste my breath asking Tom Carne's permission to marry Dem?!"
"What did you say?' asked Andrew.
"I simply told him that, if he didn't marry us today, I would punch his fucking face in." said Ross taking a dignified sip of his brandy. They fell about laughing. Ned wiped his eyes, he laughed that hard, crowing,
"G'on, my son!"
They clinked their glasses. Verity and Demelza could hear them as far as the garden.
"To Ross and Dem!"
The girls looked at each other. The party was breaking up. "I think we should rejoin the others." said Verity. Demelza nodded, but felt a little strange. She and Ross had slept together a hearty amount but this was the place were they first met and in some ways held more importance as the site of their first night as proper man and wife.
The guests departed, with knowing looks and warm hugs. Ned and Dwight hugged and congratulated their Dem. Andrew gave her a kiss on the cheek and stepped back so Verity could say her goodbye. He would escort her leave. They agreed to have a meal together tonight. Dem suddenly clung to Verity as if she would not let go. Struck by the emotion of having entered this house as a little waif with Garrick in her arms. It seemed like a million years ago and just yesterday simultaneously. Dem was now a Poldark and the two people who meant the most to her were now her family. Verity rested her chin on Dem's shoulder and whispered "You are loved, Demelza." Verity kissed her forehead and gave her one last squeeze of a hug. She held Dem's hands and smiled as they stood apart.
"Congratulations, my dear." she said.

II. Knights In White Satin

"Mrs. Poldark..." Ross was in his shirtsleeves and pants. The vest and jacket had been dispensed with when they got back home, hours ago, and now the tie had gone. They were alone. Dem had removed her shoes and tights and was wafting about the lounge with a glass of champagne, dreamy and happy and awaiting Ross who's footfall she heard on the steps. She realized with a start that she had never been in Ross' room in this house and her heart seemed to skip a beat at that fact. She offered him her glass of champagne and he sipped at it while looking into her eyes. He smiled.
"Come upstairs, Dem."

She took his hand. He lead her up the stairs. She pushed open the door as the scent of candle wax curled around it. A no nonsense bedroom. Spartan. A desk with less clutter on it than the one in the library at Nampara. A clothes closet with a myriad of suits and shoes in one corner, so unlike his uniform of jeans and a shirt as she had come to know him. The remnants of his Mod past...
On the floor by the window and on the desk were lit candles that made a mystical confused replica of their shadows on the ceiling. Strewn across the bed was a handful of somewhat dried Nampara cornflowers. "Oh, Ross..." her heart melted at the sight. She felt Ross' breath on her neck and smoothed her hair to one side to leave her neck clear. He gently pulled the zipper of the dress down, and down, and down her back. The two sides of the dress parted like angel's wings and he felt his heart skip a beat as he pushed the gown down off of her arms and down her hips and legs to the floor. She gathered up the dress and laid it over the chair of the desk. She had a cheeky flash of a thought that the stuffed wing chair in the corner of the room should remain free to utilize for a different purpose later... She stood in her underclothes and began to unbutton Ross' shirt. They had a rapturous, joyful look mirrored in each others eyes. Mr. and Mrs. She pushed the shirt off his arms and it fell away. Unable to resist, Ross kissed her and they remained that way for some minutes, and why not? They had all the time in the world...

The morning light slanted across the room through the curtains of the window. Ross lay on his side, watching Dem sleep. She lay on her back, lips slightly apart, her palm facing up with her fingers curled, reminiscent of a seashell by the bright mane of her hair. She woke suddenly, eyes open suddenly, towards the ceiling and then to Ross. He was struck by her gaze. A heavy lidded, direct gaze. She brought her right arm around to let her fingers play about his hair as she stared at him with the look of a hawk or a falcon. He had claimed her at Nampara and she would claim him in London. She curled her arm around his head and drew him in for a kiss. Ross wondered, as she lay him on his back, sheets twisted about her waist, her body rising above him like the masthead of a ghost ship, 'Is it possible to die of pleasure?' Could he lose himself in the sparkle of her eyes until there was no way to return? Was it possible to drown in a sea of red hair? He cried out as she settled herself upon him, he felt the bed cradle his body as she made love to him with a secret smile that made him weak with lust. She claimed her husband, as the bed creaked a steady rhythm and they breathed songs of desire. She raised her head, eyes closed, screaming her pleasure as he grasped her hips and thrust to meet her, both finding the end of their race and lay spent. Ross lay on his back, panting, holding Demelza to him as they dozed once more. Thank god, thought Ross, thank god one could die of pleasure and then be reborn so you could do it all over again...
Having entertained themselves past what would be considered the breakfast hour, they had cake for lunch, or perhaps early supper. They lay quiet afterwards in Ross' tub-not the third floor tub where, years ago a heroin addict deloused a sleepy headed runaway, like a distant dream...
Demelza lay nestled between Ross' legs in the hot water and they found it agreeable to simply rest there. If there was lust, there was also companionship. There was also the knowledge that the other was a friend. They linked the fingers of their left hands under the water. True wed.

Chapter Text

The quiet sunlight of a July Sunday morning filled the winter parlor at Trenwith. Elizabeth played the harp, working on a sonata by Krumpholz and trying to decide which parts of the piece could be suitable points to look up. Elizabeth was often aware of a sense of performance in her behavior, trained from the cradle towards deliberate performance to secure the notice of men and the admiration or envy of women, depending on how they were disposed to see her. At a certain point, a serene blink of her eyes would be quite fetching but she had to time it to her fingering, just so. In some ways, Elizabeth's harp practice was more for this purpose than mastery of the instrument. They had their breakfast, the remains of which were being discreetly removed by servants. Charles and Francis had what was the one of the few moments of camaraderie in the week where he and his father would pursue the London Times and tut tut over the state of world affairs. The elderly Aunt Agatha sat near the window consulting her tarot cards with a fine woven shawl around her, patterned in warm, red tones and making her black dress look rather more severe. Elizabeth's mother was with them today, having joined the group for dinner and stayed over so they were all assembled when Charles suddenly said:

"Stap me! He's done it now!" Francis looked up from his part of the newspaper.
"Who's done what, father?"
"Damme, look at young Ross in the paper!" The rest of them sat up with a start.
"In the Times?!" asked Mrs. Chynoweth.

Francis leaned forward from his chair and reached to grab the section Charles offered him. Elizabeth stopped playing her harp and came to look over Francis' shoulder. There, in the editorial comment section was a rather tart essay about how wayward the youth of Britain were becoming '...Their outlandish clothes and unkempt hair, licentious behavior and drugs taking bring the country into lower esteem, threaten the common good. So it is, perhaps, a positive sign of betterment that a counter cultural couple such as Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark should enter into the more traditional rituals of matrimony rather than the disgraceful rise in co habitation and uptick in unwed births in recent years. Would that other of their disposition follow suit...'

Verity entered the parlor with a cup of tea, discreetly laced with brandy, for her father. "What has got you so interested in the Times?" Francis spoke with disbelief in his voice. "Ross has gone and married that girl, that schoolgirl he'd been keeping!"
"Demelza..." said Elizabeth, with the same dazed sounding voice.

"What?!" cried Verity. This outburst roused Aunt Agatha and struck Francis, Elizabeth and Charles as a sign that Verity was in agreement with them that Ross had lost his mind. They could not know that she was in sympathy with the couple and had attended the wedding. She left that for Ross to inform them all when they returned from London. She hurried to the other side of Francis' chair and, as surprised and disturbed as she was by the picture of them leaving Caxton Hall, mercifully with Dwight and Ned obscuring her and Andrew in the doorway beyond, smiled to see how loving and happy they looked as they smiled into each others eyes on the steps of the entrance. Ross looked handsome and Demelza looked beautiful and they both looked very much in love. They were the most romantic looking hippie couple one could hope to see.
"What the devil does he mean by it..." said Francis, not quite to anyone in particular. Mrs. Chynoweth sniffed, "Even old Joshua had better sense not to marry a hussy like that."
"Ross was always a bad boy," smiled Agatha, "At least he wed she rather than be a ridin' her wi' no ring!" she laughed as Charles gave her a sour look. After some more scandalized conversation they agreed, as shocking as it was, the thrust of the comment showed them in a positive light for all that it was an embarrassment to the Poldarks to see their cousin in the paper.

Dwight and Ned were still at the gatehouse, fending for themselves as Jud and Prudie were given a rare holiday until Ross and Dem returned. There were picking up provisions in Sawle when Dwight happened to see The News Of The World, a rather downmarket tabloid paper in the newsagents window as they passed. "Caxton Hall Shocker". Caxton Hall caught Dwight's eye and then he gasped at the blurb. Ned turned and found Dwight had dashed into the newsagents. He came out with the paper. "I didn't take you for reading that kind of newspa..." He was struck dumb by Dwight turning the article to face him. A cheerful, bitter little article about how scandalous the behavior of rock and roll musicians and artists conducted themselves was, especially availing themselves of the dubious pleasure of underage girls. A case in point being Ross Poldark of the band Resurgam marrying his child groupie, a girl he had installed at a tender age in his farmhouse lair in Devon. Dwight snorted, they didn't get Cornwall right... "What a scabby lie!" said Ned, angered over the article. It was the sort of pearl clutching that barely disguised the glee of being able to inform their readers of dirty linen and lies. There were certainly artists and television presenters and musicians having it off with young kids. That wasn't a made up story, for what its worth. Having Ross and Dem as their example was erroneous and unbelievable, yet twinning the true story with the false one was going to blur to the point where people might believe it all.
"Fuckin' hell... We have to tell Ross!" said Ned growing angrier by the minute. This article was taking the piss and throwing muck on his friends. Ned was annoyed to see that, in their zeal to cast aspersions on them, News of The World made the suggestion that Ross named their instrumental jam, on side two of their last album, "Sugar candy and Napoleon Brandy" as a lewd reference to Dem. Ned had named that song. Yes, it was meant to be Ross and Dem but not with the taint of something horrid in it like the paper said. He had watched Dem happily walking in front of Ross on the pavement in London after he'd bought the afghan coat she been after. All the young girls were mad for the style and Ross had her plain wool coat over his arm because she insisted in wearing it out of the shop. It had curly fringe all about it and flowers embroidered all down the front, You couldn't tell her nothing, she was a queen in that coat. She was delighted in it and proud of it as she walked, her gait still with a hop in it, she was just turned fifteen then...Ross walked behind her in his long dark coat and she skipped along ahead of him. They were a picture. Ross had brought her up, really, like an uncle might. Dem was a good girl and Ross never laid a hand on her any earlier than now. Many girls get hitched at sixteen, that weren't a crime! Ross and Dem were innocent, it was the rest of the world around them that was evil, thought Ned.
Dwight thought it through. "They should be told, but not now. Let them come back first. If they hear it from someone else, so be it, but I don't want us to be the messenger, ruin their honeymoon...he hasn't given Dem the twelve string yet..." Ross' wedding present to Demelza was hidden in the gatehouse. Ned sighed. "EMI might do it themselves if they get to hear of it..." Dwight sighed as well. "They just wanted an excuse to write the rest of it..." The rest of the article cast gossipy aspersions at various other rock stars a rung or two above a band like theirs, gossip that was, on some level, true. There were underage girls floating about the scene, some willing, some not. Ned sighed again, "Poor old Dem..."

In London, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering, Ross and Dem, he in just his jeans and she in a lace trimmed, cotton slip, enjoyed a late breakfast of toast, marmalade and strawberries, and their tea going cold as they spent most of the meal with Dem in his lap, teasing each other with strawberries and losing themselves in fruit scented kisses. The phone rang. They looked at each other, each of them trying to summon the will to get up and answer the phone. Dem smiled as Ross traced her lips with the pointed end of a strawberry and she bit into it playfully. He grinned and put his hand behind her neck, spreading his fingers into her hair as she dipped down to lick into his mouth. They resumed kissing.

Verity hung up. She knew Ross and Dem should be told. Trying to reach a newlywed couple on a Sunday morning was a fools errand anyway. It would keep.

Ross and Dem remained in the dark until Monday, sequestered in the happy bubble of their newlywed bliss. Ross had chosen London as a way to mitigate the nine day wonder's worth of gossip he resigned himself to once they returned to Cornwall. He had no idea people would be hearing of and discussing his marriage up and down the country.

Dem was still asleep and Ross had gone to the kitchen to make some tea. The phone rang. "Ah, Verity! Good morning!" he sat down, believing he would have an enjoyable chat with her and went silent as she explained that someone else had taken pictures of them and that they had been in the Times editorial page on Sunday.
"Ross?" asked Verity.
"I'm...still here..." said Ross slowly.
"I'm sorry to intrude on your time together but I didn't want you to come back to Nampara and not know."
"No, Verity. You were right to tell us." Ross realized it might have been Verity ringing on Sunday morning when they were too full of themselves to pick up and answer.
"Thank you, Verity. I know you wanted to warn us. That was good of you."
The tea abandoned, Ross went back upstairs. He got back into bed. Demelza did not wake. He put his arm around her and relished the heat of their bodies at the points where they touched. He had a think. One article wasn't the end of the world, and a somewhat sympathetic one. Dem didn't need to be told right away. I'll mention it tonight. We'll have dinner and we'll discuss it when we get back.
At dinner, it was not their imagination. The other diners were taking surreptitious looks and even boldly direct glances their way. Ross and Dem were not bothered at first but it slowly became oppressive. They became aware of the interest of the other people and felt as if they were suddenly put under a microscope. "Why are they staring?" whispered Demelza. Ross said, quietly, "Verity called this morning. Apparently, some other photographer took a picture of us leaving Caxton Hall and it ended up in The Times yesterday. Demelza's mouth opened but no sound came out. "We had our picture in the newspaper?" Ross sighed, "Yes, there was an editorial about counter cultural types and we were the example." "Oh..." Dem didn't like the sound of that. "Verity said the article was not bad. She said it was really the sort of affair where they hem and haw over the youth of today. We were a useful illustration, I suppose..."
They hailed a cab. The driver kept looking at them in his rear view mirror.
"Are you them 'ippies what got hitched?"
"What?!" said Ross. The driver did not strike Ross as being a reader of The Times.
"In the News Of The World!" Dem gasped.
"I seen you two in the paper! Good on you, lad! Many 'appy returns!" Ross blanched. "Thank you." The admiration of the driver had more than a little of the ' wink wink, nudge nudge' to it. Ross had done well in the cabby's eyes, securing himself a 'young thing'. They entered the flat, disconcerted. "He said we were in the News Of The World...?" said Ross in a bit of a daze. There was no way that could be good but they were loath to say this to each other. They drew a bath, something they had come to enjoy and spent time just soaking in it with an occasional chaste kiss, each of them a little absent about it tonight. They had lived with gossip around them from the start but this was at a scale they had not considered, even with Ross signed to a major label.
"Dem," said Ross, quietly, "However they choose to speak about us...please don't take it to heart. Good or ill, they don't know us at all..." She lay back, wriggling a little to get comfortable and sighed. Ross wondered, what were they to some back home? The wastrel son of a notorious womanizer and some low class girl? What if they came to know Ross and Dem had also been a junkie and a runaway once? Possibly putting himself and Dem on the lowest rung of society to the sort of people who tittered about them. Ross started to worry. What if that got in the papers? His drugs registration. Ross lay his head on the back of the tub. He did not like thinking. At the moment, his ardor for Dem was keeping the darkness in him at bay, but it was never far away. He'd used drugs to resist having to confront the darker whorls of his mind and had freed himself of them. But times like now, the uncertainty of knowing whether his secret shame might be blared out for all to see, for Dem to see...made him wish to shut down in a way he had not felt for some time. Demelza felt Ross stroke her thigh but with nervousness in it-not an overture or an act of love. Ross was unnerved by these newspaper stories even as he counseled her to disregard them. Dem sighed again. She didn't know what it was about her that made people so insistent about paying her attention. She would like nothing better than to be as ordinary as anyone else. She and Ross could never just be, it seemed. Why should anyone else pay more mind to them than anyone else? Why should people forever be prying and judging them? Shouldn't people have better things to do than watch and wonder at what Ross and Demelza do...? She stood up and left the tub. Ross looked to her and wondered if she would think less of him if she knew of his heroin addiction. He didn't want her to find out. The stigma of it was so severe. Dem could see Ross looking at her but not seeing her. He was fretting. "Ross?" He blinked himself into the present. "I was miles away..." he admitted. Dem smiled. "Maybe it won't be so bad, Ross," she said as she wrapped a towel around herself, "Sunday's paper is Monday's fish wrap!" They laughed. "We haven't been to the chippy since we've been here..." said Demelza, a little surprised by realizing that. They'd gotten out of the habit of having fish and chips. Ross was a little ashamed to go to the chip shop up the road. He knew they'd seen him at his worst, more than once, when he was using.
"I'd rather have fish in a proper restaurant." he said.
They dried off and readied themselves for bed. Sensing that Ross was unhappy, Dem made a point of holding him to her. She put her arms about him and drew his head onto her shoulder. Ross relinquished himself to her care. He felt safe there, in her arms. Dem wouldn't think less of him for having been an addict, would she? He put it out of his mind by degrees. He put his arms around her and closed his eyes. As he crossed over into sleep he thought 'What are a smack head and an abused runaway worth on the open market? Or two skilled guitarists, two people who overcame their difficulties? What is the worth of a rock musician and his wife? We'll find out soon...'
Later in the night, they woke and made love. Afterwards, they curled back into each others arms and slept. They would return to Nampara soon. He would be away in Europe with the band in September, before they took a break at Christmas. The time they had together now was important and the outer world was doing its best to spoil it. Ross nestled himself closer to her. There was studio time, earmarked for the band, that he could use. Maybe they could play together and record it before they went home. If they agreed on the songs ahead of time it wouldn't take too long to do...three days in the studio, maybe four? Dem had never been in a recording studio, it might be fun for her...He slept in a better frame of mind. Let the tongues yap, he thought. Don't give a thought to what the papers say. Enjoy being together, working together... I want to record music with my wife... he smiled at the thought and whispered sleepily into her hair, "Good night, my love."

Chapter Text

I. Summer In The City

The freelancers who had the good fortune to photograph Ross and Dem leaving Caxton Hall made a killing. Pickings for all, one might say. All the music papers ran it with congratulations to the happy couple. The News of the World bought it, using the photo as a dodge to print some of the salacious gossip about other performers they had been anxious to print and now could do under the guise of indignation over a rock guitarist marrying his sixteen year old mistress. The conservative papers, also looking for reasons to run stories about the counter culture bought it and were split. Some believed it was a positive sign that the wayward youth of the country were returning to older values, choosing formal marriage over living together and out of wedlock births. Others felt it was a mockery of the institution of marriage. What will all these long haired wastrels do for a living? They can't all make rock records, can they? More sign that the moral fiber of the nation was in peril. Teen magazines, geared toward young women, pronounced Ross and Dem a hippie dream couple in their fashionable clothes and many 'get the look' articles were sprung from the original photo.* Ross and Demelza put a brave face on it. The accusation that Ross had been sleeping with her underage had followed them from the very beginning, in Cornwall. This rumor would now follow them in perpetuity, in part, because of this burst of national interest in them. They had become numb to the charge after so many years living with it, thought it rankled them. On the other hand, the ramifications of their notoriety were not altogether bad. Biba sent Dem three, floor length dresses-one black with thin gold threads woven through it, one a bit like a Regency style gown in green and plum purple slim fitting satin dress that had more than a hint of 1930s movie star glamour. They gave Ross a pair of black leather, Spanish made, riding boots. Every scrap of lace clothing evaporated from the Biba boutique when Dem's dress was identified as theirs in the press. They received good wishes every where they happened to go in London. The bitter gossip of Cornwall did not touch them in the capital. At first mortified by the press interest, they found that the good will of the Londoners around them augmented their honeymoon. Ross was annoyed it happened at all, though the International Times, the counter culture newspaper, had the one comment in this tempest in a teapot that truly amused him. The editor, who had recognized Ross and remembered him from the Modernist scene, ran the photo with the caption:

Where do old Mods go when they die? Why, to heaven, of course! Cheers to Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark who put all the straights in fits for daring to get married the way anybody else would. I look forward to the day when we are all ruled over by their groovy children.

EMI, happy to capitalize on the situation, to make hay while the sun shone, took full page ads in all the music press with picture of both Resurgam records underneath the black and white publicity photo of Ross, Dwight and Ned playing at Blaises Club and the label was happy to indulge Ross in utilizing Resurgam's studio time without quibbling. Ross secured a set of drums for Ned to use so they wouldn't have to bring them from Nampara. Dwight and Ned arrived at the flat with Dwight's bass, two of Ross' electric Fender guitars, and the two acoustic Gibsons from the parlor.
"Oi, Missus!!" Ned gave Dem a big bear hug. They could hear Ross come down the stairs and they had a happy reunion. Dwight gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. "I see marriage agrees with you, Dem!" Dem's happiness seemed to exude from her skin. When a person is as happy as she was that summer it is hard for others not to be effected and that atmosphere blessed their undertaking that week. The plan was to record Ross and Demelza singing together and some tracks with her singing alone. They would shut up the London house afterwards. Dwight and Ned would return to their London digs until they left for their tour. This would give Ross and Demelza August to themselves at Nampara before Ross left with them for Europe. They spent their first couple of days working out what they would do and playing on the third floor of the flat. They chose some blues covers and some folk songs. They didn't have the time to try and work up new material. This project was for joy anyway, rather than something serious. Dem was excited and happy to be able to work with them like a proper member of the band, something she'd daydreamed about for years as she toiled at her schoolwork while they worked on their songs in the parlor at Nampara. Their days were full of creativity and laughter and the enjoyment of feeling like they had all conjured this project as a natural outgrowth of their early days when Dem was first at Nampara and they were working on their first album. They had gotten the gang back together. They worked at EMI Recording Studio during the day, came back to the flat in the evening to have their dinner and then took on the town, seeing live music in the London clubs each night. By the end of the week, they recorded nine songs as a band and two that Demelza sang a cappella. Enough for an album...

II. Our House

Garrick barked and leaped about Demelza as she came through the gate. She dropped to her knees and gave him a cuddle. As big as he was now, they still greeted each other as if he was a puppy and she a young kid. Ross smiled at the sight. Jud and Prudie, minding the house and feeding Garrick while Ned and Dwight were away, gave Ross and Dem their congratulations and they had tea together before they went off to resume their time off. They waved them goodbye from the door. Having decided to deal with his Trenwith relations once Jud and Prudie returned gave them two weeks to themselves with no judgments or distractions. Prudie had stocked their larder so they didn't need to go any further than Nampara cove and could relax in seclusion. It was three in the afternoon. They retired to bed.

Ross sat up by the headboard of the bed and Dem lay across the bed, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow. He played with her hair, twisting a curl about his fingers, gently. Dem blinked lazily. They were dreamy and content and listened to the silence around them. It was nearly six o clock. "Are you hungry?" asked Demelza. "Not really, though I suppose we should eat." said Ross. He looked down at her. "Are you?" She closed her eyes and smiled. "I'm not sure. We should eat though, We exerted ourselves!" Ross started chuckling. She could feel him laughing as she lay on him. He gently traced her breast with his forefinger, through the thin sheet. She slowly tugged at the sheet to expose it, drawing the sheet away.
At eight, they got up and went downstairs. "We're keeping the wrong hours, yawned Demelza as they finished their dinner. Ross smiled as he put their plates in the sink. "We have no one to please but ourselves." The went to sit in the parlor. Their guitars had been restored to their proper places. Demelza noticed a new, empty stand to the left of the fireplace. " What's that stand for?" she asked. She knew that Ross never left his Fenders out, he always put them back in their cases. "Ah... I have your wedding present in the gatehouse..." She looked puzzled. "What? You mean the studio session wasn't my present?!" Ross looked at her in surprise. He started grinning the sort of grin that made him look younger. "You thought...?" he was smiling to the point he could barely get words out. "Oh, Dem, that wasn't your wedding present! That was..." he stopped again and shrugged a little, shook his head the barest bit, delighted, "That was just because!" They were both smiling foolishly wide grins. "We're keeping the wrong hours," teased Ross, "Should we go get your present now?" She nodded, laughing. He stood up from the sofa and bowed before her. She curtsied. They laughed again as he took her hand. They went out to the gatehouse. Ross unlocked the door and turned on the light. "It's upstairs." he said, "You know that it's a guitar, but I still want you to cover your eyes." Dem sat on the armchair closest to them and covered her eyes with her hands. "There!" she said. She heard Ross mount the stairs and then come back. She heard what had to be the case laid at her feet on the floor in front of her. "Don't peek." said Ross. She heard the clasps open and the gentle tap of the lid resting on the floor. She heard Ross sit on the floor, across from her chair. "You can look now."
Demelza uncovered her eyes and gasped. At her feet, and hers alone, was a twelve string Gibson guitar of a quality that took her breath away. A maple body with a rosewood fretboard and, instead of the standard mother of pearl inlays, there were beautifully scrolled leaves and flowers, glistening their subtle colours under the pearl sheen, glowing against the wood. Demelza was speechless. She looked at Ross in disbelief and looked at it again, sliding off the chair to her knees, gently touching the neck as if it might disappear at any moment, as if she couldn't believe it was real. "Ross..." she whispered, "It's that beautiful..." Ross was gratified to see her so overwhelmed. He'd searched for that Gibson all over London, knowing that the floral motifs would please her. He came to her side, they looked at each other and mirrored their love for each other in their eyes. "Wife." he said. She smiled and kissed him as gently as their first kiss. "Husband."
They returned to the house and set the twelve string next to the black and maple six strings. They looked handsome together. Ross' black guitar with a silver scroll pattern around the hole flanked by the two maple wood guitars. They stood admiring them and then they brought them to the sofa and played quite late into the night. They traded parts, played together and listened as they took turns playing alone. The tone and lovely chime of the double strings of Demelza's guitar was enchanting. Their old twelve string was a study instrument. This new one had an elegance one could hear. Ross lay back and closed his eyes. Dem played beautifully and it made his heart swell with pride and happiness. He blinked suddenly. He had fallen asleep. Dem was now laying with him on the sofa having put both guitars back on their stands. She slept as well. He wiggled a little, to get comfortable, put his arms around her and they slept in the parlor until morning.

* Their Caxton photo still ends up in wedding style magazines to this day and they are all over bridal Pinterest.

Chapter Text

That August, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of gossip that fell upon them from the Caxton photo's launch into the public sphere, Ross and Demelza embarked on a quiet Eden of love that the outside world made no attempt to breach. Nearly every inch of Nampara and the adjoining land was witness to their ardor and the days flowed slowly for them as they had reached a point where their preoccupation with the other set them suspended in a world where time ceased to function. There was the rising sun and the setting sun, the only mark of the days and even that held no claim on them. They were each others entirely.
After two weeks, the Paynters returned but Ross, still enchanted with their idyll, chose to remain sequestered at home, leaving those at Trenwith to deal with before he left for the tour. He was hording as much time with Dem as he could for they would be apart until December. Resurgam had a bump in record sales after the extra push of advertising EMI undertook after the wedding photo got into the press. There was renewed interest in them that made this tour, which had been scheduled in any case, more of a priority to the label. He, Dwight and Ned would be in Holland, France, Switzerland, and West Germany, then wrap up in Portugal, Spain and Italy before returning to England. Fate seemed to smile on Ross for a change and his mood was lightened in a manner alien to him. He was happy. An uncomplicated happiness that was new to him and fused with his honeymoon with Dem. Their relationship had no flaw.
Three of the Fenders in the parlor were spirited away to join the gear for the tour. Ross' clothes were crammed into a U.S. Army bag rather than a suitcase. The drab army green setting the odd assortment of identifying tags on it as if they were lit from within. They had a quiet dinner at home and one last night of love before Ross joined his bandmates in London. The warmth of their bodies had become as necessary as air to breathe since their first night together. He'd been away before but this parting was not the same. The previous, cheerful admonishments to 'be good' or 'get home safe' no longer applied. Their relationship had changed. They felt like they were relinquishing part of themselves this time. That Ross would leave his heart behind and Dem would pin her's in its place. Sleepy words of love, love itself and the promise of resuming their enjoyment of each other when he returned sweetened their rest on their last night. In the morning, with a few last wacks to Garrick's flanks, the attention he favored, and a final kiss goodbye to Dem, he embarked on his journey.

September

At first, Demelza was lonesome, but after about a week, she started to find her own rhythms of life and enjoyment of her days at Nampara without Ross. She and Garrick spent the early mornings walking about and she spent her days practicing the guitar and the piano. She and Prudie worked along side each other in the kitchen and enjoyed cooking and baking. She would go out to Truro on occasion to sit in with some of the folk musicians who played at two different pubs that had become its own scene in some ways. Dem listened and learned and, occasionally, could show them a thing or two of her own. Many of the musicians were older men who had an encyclopedic knowledge of the old Cornish songs and she learned many of them as Jud enjoyed tapping his toe with a pint as he waited for her so they could return to Nampara. One night, emboldened by drink, Jud bellowed out, "Any of them strummers knows 'The Fly'?" A laugh bubbled up. A guy around Jud's age said "Oh, aye, but I d'need a singer for tha!" Dem started to laugh as Jud, who could not be accused of being drunk, simply merry, stood up at the bar to say, "Oo's to say I can't sings a tune of an evenin'?' Whistles and claps started about the room. "G'on Jud!" said Dem laughing. He came forward and stood with the fiddler and the old man with his guitar. Those younger in the crowd, like Dem, cheered. Coming to see the old timers was part of what made the Truro folk scene exciting. With a flourish on the violin that held a scratchiness of tone those younger couldn't hope to duplicate. Jud relished the attention as he sang:

Now the first job that I wor-ked at
For Maister Farmer Vart
He comes to me one day and he said,
"A first-class turnip-hoer thee't are."
For the fly, the fly, the fly is on the turnip,

And it's all that I can do to try

To keep fly off the turnip!

But there's some delights in harvesting,
And some bein' fond of mowin'
But of all the jobs that be on a farm
Give I the turnip-hoeing

For the fly, the fly, the fly is on the turnip,

And it's all that I can do to try

To keep fly off the turnip!

When I was over at yonder farm, the sent for I a-mowin,
But I sent word back I'd sooner have the sack, than lose my turnip-hoein',
Now all you jolly farming lads as bides at home so warm.
I now concludes my ditty with wishing you no harm.

After the crowd joined in at the end to sing the chorus, Jud took a bow as the room exploded with applause. Dem clapped loudest of all.

October

Resurgam's fortunes had risen in the wake of their lead singer's marriage. The music papers went far afield, seen as the gold standard for music writing on the continent and the tour was a success as it wound its way through its schedule. Pictures found their way back to England in New Music Express, Record Mirror and Melody Maker.(Dem kept them all in a neat pile in the parlor for Ross to see when he returned.) They played well and the shows were well attended. The dubious hotels they stayed in were a bit shabby but about what one could expect. Even on a major label with a sudden burst of interest, they were still a slogging band rather than a better known group. Ross turned a knowing smile towards Dwight and Ned as they occasionally availed themselves of the attention of female attendees. Ross, more than once waggled his left hand and his wedding ring to signal he'd not partake as his band mates did to ladies who had not the grasp of enough English to understand he wasn't being coy saying 'No.' He returned to his room each night for a good night's kip. He had no temptation to stray.

November

As Dem and Jud entered the pub and a song was ending, old Jope Ishbel looked up to the door and said, "There she be! Roll up, girl! You ain't heard this one afore!" As she made her way to the front with her guitar case on her back, the top of which rising over her head, she stopped in the middle of the room, her face a picture of happy surprise as he sang:

Oh I wish I was a flower
On our own Dem's guitar
She'd press her fingers on me
Like a proper playin' rock star
Now don't ye be forgettin' us
When ye found yer fame
For The Seven Stars in Truro
Is where you first made your name!

Dem blushed. There were hearty whoops and cheers as she gave Jope a hug and they sat to play together. She and Jud had become regulars. The old timers appreciated her interest as well as the other youngsters in the old songs. The gossip didn't go away, but it didn't touch her somehow. Dem had a firm friendship with many in Truro and some good will from strangers besides. Those who still believed her to be 'Ross Poldark's slut' didn't touch her life at this point. They weren't in the same circles she moved in. Having had the notoriety of being a rock star's wife as well as supporting the local scene with her participation did much to change the perceptions of those who might have been on the fence. And if some still harbored suspicions about her relationship with Ross, even they had to admit he had made an honest woman of her.

December

The boar's head in hand bear I
Bedecked with bays and rosemary
And I pray you my masters be merry
Quot estis in convivio

Caput apri defero
Reddens laudes Domino

The boar's head as I understand
Is the rarest dish in all the land
When thus bedecked with a gay garland
Let us servire cantico

Caput apri defero
Reddens laudes Domino...

As Jud sang along with the old fiddle player, Dem felt her stomach roil a little, felt her throat twitch. She clapped along but soon excused herself to the ladies where she promptly threw up the cider she'd drunk and felt over warm. Ill. She felt ill. She rinsed her mouth over the little sink and looked at herself in the sallow light above her in the mirror along the wall. She'd known her period was late. This was her first brush with morning sickness that didn't have the decency to arrive in the morning. 'A baby!' she thought, 'Our baby!' She didn't look different, but inside she was much changed. She returned to the room and sat down smiling. Her stomach still felt dodgy, but she felt over the moon.

Ross' army bag landed with a thud on the foyer hall of the London flat. He'd enjoyed the tour, it went well. Ned and Dwight parted ways with him at the airport, all bound for their own Christmases and vowing to return for a knees up at New Years. Ross turned on the light in the kitchen. He saw his reflection in the glass doors that led to the garden. He saw a husband one day away from being reunited with his wife. He smiled. He knew Dem would not want to spend Christmas at Trenwith but that was something that had to be done. When he went to Trenwith before the tour, they'd extracted a promise that he would bring 'their new cousin' to Christmas. Verity would be there, so Dem would have at least one friend. Elizabeth would, of course, be there and that would not make Dem at ease. He wondered if he also might be ill at ease. He had not quite relinquished his devotion to Elizabeth, so bound in his London Mod days. He still held a spark of love for her, for all he adored Dem. What man wouldn't have regard for the women who meant the most to him? He looked in the refrigerator. Some orange juice in a glass bottle well past its use and little else. He made some tea. As he drank it he thought of Dem and how good it would be to fall back into bed with her and lose track of the world around them once more. So soon.

At Nampara, there were boughs of greenery scenting the air and a Christmas cake, the fruit in which had been drowsing in liquor since August, resting in the larder. Demelza was kneading dough in the kitchen with her back to the doorway. Ross crept behind her. He grabbed her hips. "Oh!" she was startled. "Ross! I didn't expect you 'til tomorrow!" she smiled, "I thought you'd be at the flat!" He brought his face close to hers, still standing behind her. "I have a home, do I not? And a wife...?" He let his finger brush down her neck as he said this. She feigned disinterest. "You've been away so long, I've forgotten.." He pinched her. "That I live here?" She stepped back, teased him by pressing back against him. He exhaled and sighed. Her aim was true. "That I'm your wife..." The leer in her voice made him laugh, even as her flirting was driving him to distraction. He rubbed against her. "Let that be a reminder..." She turned and he kissed her. When they stopped she saw she had gotten flour on his clothes. "Oh! Sorry!" He chuckled and looked at the dough. "Can you set that aside?" She blinked at him coquettishly. "Yes, I think that can be arranged." He stepped back and looked her up and down. Shall we meet upstairs?" She nodded. "Yes, Ross."

In the morning, Jud and Prudie found Ross' bag laying, forlorn, in the hall, the kitchen in slight disarray and the house stone silent. "They'll not be astir for a while..." mused Prudie as she put the kettle on the hob. "An 'im gone three month? 'Pect not to see 'em for sometime." chuckled Jud. They looked to each other as a cry was heard. The kettle started singing. "'Pect we'll 'ear 'em whether we see 'em or no..." she smirked. She poured hot water into the teapot. "Aye." Jud chose a currant bun from the tin on the table. He paused before taking a bite with a wry smile. "Tis what married folk do..."

Chapter Text

I. You're All I Need To Get By

Elizabeth was seated at her dressing table, wearing a silk slip, holding a flacon of perfume, scenting herself with it in a ritualized manner that looked vaguely occult. She used the small protrusion in the stopper to place a drop on each inside wrist, the crook of each elbow, behind each ear and a final drop in the center of the back of her neck. Francis always stopped what he happened to be doing to watch her scent herself. It was a fascinating procedure. She looked at him in the mirror with a smile. Christmas was not a truly formal affair for the Trenwith Poldarks, though they did enjoy dressing with a nod to the festive season. Francis was buttoning the cuffs of his shirt and about to don a dark blue cashmere sweater rather than a wool one. Elizabeth had a very pretty brocade dress, floor length, crimson, woven with roses shot through with gold, laying on the bed, to be worn with gold leather, almond toed shoes. They'd made love, a rare occurrence since the birth of Geoffery Charles three years earlier. They had drifted apart from each other from that point. Something in the knowledge that they would be hosting Ross and Dem compelled them to reach out to each other today. Dutch courage, perhaps. Seen and considered on their own merits, the Trenwith Poldarks would seem to be more fortunate than their Nampara cousins. Together they had wealth, a grand estate, the respect of the community and an heir in the wings to stand with Francis and his father, Charles, as one of the most important families in the county. But, should the glossy surface of these niceties be scratched, truer colors would emerge. Francis and Elizabeth entered their marriage believing they loved each other. Francis, heir to Trenwith, had the added outcome of acquiring the sort of wife he was expected to have. Elizabeth was a covetable prize and, perhaps, uncharitably, a sign of victory over his dashing cousin Ross as well as the other suitors who might have wanted her for themselves. The prize was barbed, though. Francis quickly came to see they had little in common and that his victory over Ross was, at best, a token. She remained a faultless society wife but there was little that bound them together emotionally and the previous relationship with Ross seemed to plague her in some unspecified way. Francis, who also felt a bit uncomfortable in himself because of his father's critical attitude towards him, he felt he was a pretender as an heir, for his father was reluctant to give him more responsibilities in business matters, and a pretender as a husband, a Poldark of last resort. That his status in the community sweetened her acceptance of him did not surprise or upset him. It did surprise him to see how hollow their life felt. Ross had the hard luck that often befalls the side of a family denied the largess of the heir's portion. Ross' late father was the second son and scandalized the district as a notorious womanizer. It was nothing to Joshua Poldark to pursue, catch and then abandon any woman who caught his eye, be they married or unmarried. He created scandal after scandal in an district that, from time immemorial, was fueled by gossip. Joshua's antics were one of the very few topics of talk that did not need embellishment. His behavior was so extreme there was no need to exaggerate. The Nampara Poldarks remained the branch of relations that held a dodgy reputation, father and son. A good portion of the county, indeed, the country, looked askance at Ross' marriage to his sixteen year old ward and their unconventional life as musicians. But Ross and Dem had a bit of glamour about them too. Ross' band, Resurgam, was signed to EMI and the media storm over their wedding gave them a notoriety that made them a bit larger than life. They also seemed to possess true love and the right to call their souls their own. Francis and Elizabeth who kept up appearances, the one thing that kept them afloat in a relationship with little to bind them together, felt unnerved to be in their company tonight. Francis knew Ross had been furious when he lost Elizabeth to Francis and it strained what had been a close and friendly relationship between them up to that point. Elizabeth, who had been Ross' girlfriend in the early sixties, the toast of Modernist London, was ill at ease. Ross had been the sharpest 'face' on the scene, immaculate and fashionable. She understood Ross in those terms. She was baffled by his embrace of the counter culture movement. She had come upon Ross and Dem at Nampara one morning and was shocked to see them both looking slovenly and oversexed. His hair had grown as wild as the girl's and he had abandoned his fine suits and elegant shoes to dress more like a farmer. He was an alien. Perhaps she never knew him properly. That didn't stop her fascination with him though. More than once since that morning, did she wonder at the idea of what it would be like to abandon herself to lust as they had done and consider what Ross was capable of in the throes of that sort of passion. Passion for that odd red headed girl...passion for her...
So the Trenwith Poldarks armed themselves that Christmas Eve. United in the face of Charles' declining health, after a heart attack some months earlier, the ill health of Elizabeth's mother and her increasingly needy demands. United as they were reared to be, the emerging head of one of the best families in Cornwall. They could try harder to be those people at Christmas, while hosting a couple who might show them up for all their faults.

After a brief period of consideration, Dem chose the maple six string to bring to Trenwith rather than her twelve string with the extravagant, inlay, mother of pearl flowers. A vain little part of her wanted to bring the twelve string to show Elizabeth that Ross had given her such a present. But she knew that Elizabeth wouldn't care about the quality of any of their guitars and that the impulse was immature. The carols they had been playing recently didn't need the extra flourish of a double stringed sound anyway. She sat at her dressing table. She had no need to scent herself with perfume because she had found a small shop in London that sold Indian goods and was scented from head to toe from a bar of sandalwood soap she'd bought there. She wore a rich, dark red, velvet mini dress with a square neck and long sleeves that had a bell like flounce at the wrists. This worn with white tights and red shoes with a modest heel. Ross had bought her a small, script 'D' in gold, hung from a finely wrought gold chain and it sat in the hollow beneath her throat. She watched Ross getting dressed in her mirror. He had been amused by seeing Mick Jagger going around London in a series of 18th century waistcoat vests-proper ones with florid embroidery, like a peacock. But the style grew on Ross. He wore a dark green vest, without embroidery but cut in a similar manner to that older style. He wore an ivory linen shirt and dark trousers with the Spanish boots Biba had sent him upon their wedding being announced in the papers. He looked, if possible, more wholly 'Ross' than she had ever seen and it made her smile. He saw her smile in the mirror. He crossed the room and bent down, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I think we'll pass muster..." he joked. They looked at their reflection. They were each a little nervous. Elizabeth had been Ross' first love and they had a complicated, emotional pull towards each other for all they were finished as a couple. She had been very cold and judging towards Ross and Demelza before they wed and they both had reason to enter this Christmas party with a bit of trepidation. She tilted her chin to look up at his face and he gave her a clumsy kiss on the nose that made them both laugh. He went downstairs. Dem looked at herself in the mirror again. She hoped she could make it through dinner. Her pregnancy was still secret. She didn't want to tell the rest of the Poldarks and so kept Ross in the dark as well. They might well find out because her nausea seemed to be worse in the late hours of the day. Dem was frightened she might sick up her Christmas dinner. She gave a sigh. She and Ross had the most wonderful summer and now had a child on the way. She didn't look forward to dealing with Elizabeth and hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself at Trenwith. Elizabeth already thought little of her. Whether her nausea was her own nerves or the baby, she couldn't tell.
They drove to Trenwith with their guitars and a tin holding a second Christmas cake that they would give to their hosts in the back seat. They could not bring themselves to make conversation. They were aware that they both had cause to be nervous. Ross kept himself to himself for the most part. Had Verity not been in London, he would not have sought her out at Trenwith. He had not spoken to Francis or Elizabeth or Charles until he was on the verge of leaving for Resurgam's tour. He owed it to them to speak to them directly about marrying Demelza, even if it hadn't gotten into every newspaper going. Perhaps they would find a truce between their houses. If he had Dem and Francis had Elizabeth, what reason could be left to continue the avoidance?

II. The Christmas Song

Demelza was struck by the imposing grounds and grand house of Trenwith. They parked on the gravel drive and approached the house with Ross carrying both guitars and Dem holding the cake tin like one of the Three Kings bearing gifts. Before they could ring the bell, Verity came rushing out ,with no coat, to greet them, warmly, as Ross set down one case, briefly, to catch her up in a hug.
"Happy Christmas!" she gushed.
They both felt instantly at ease. However fraught their feelings about this party, Verity's friendship with them both was a strength of the event. They both started to feel festive rather than pensive. Verity took Dem's arm, dressed in a deep blue, velvet, midi length dress with matching blue court shoes and sheer black stockings with a sheen of silver glitter in them. Dem took notice. Verity was quite modest but her dress sense was formidable. The scooped neck accented her round face and the blue seemed to reflect in and deepen her brown eyes with a hint of purple about them. Very fetching. The main entrance hall was formal with a Christmas tree tall enough to require a ladder to trim it. Ross moved through the place with the nonchalance of someone who had grown up here as much as Nampara while Dem was awed. She thought Ross' houses were grand. Trenwith put them both quite humble. In truth, she preferred the coziness of Nampara and the London flat to the church like grandiosity. No wonder Elizabeth was so serene. She floated above her surroundings for she lived like a princess. She surely did not help clean and look after this house as Dem did with Prudie. Dem did not envy her that. Perhaps she was common, thought Dem. She liked to have their home around them and make their meals and take care of the place-make it a home. Trenwith was disturbingly like a museum. Old oil paintings lined the walls, there were two parlors, the kitchen was secreted away and all of the furnishings were from an earlier time, very serene and serious looking. Nampara had furniture just as old, but it seemed more lived in and inviting somehow.
Voices could be heard beyond the hall. Ross and Dem relinquished their coats to servants as Elizabeth and Francis came to greet them. Verity watched with interest as all four of them tried to be friendly in a way that marked out the strain between them. Elizabeth thanked Dem for the cake, setting the tin to the side to be spirited away by the help. She took her hand, looked into Dem's face in an earnest, pleasant manner. "It is so good of you to come to us. May I take you to meet Aunt Agatha?" Dem let herself be led by the hand by the polite and gentle hostess who declared her a 'homeless busker' not seven months ago. Verity followed. With the ladies departed, Ross and Francis shook hands. As much as Ross suffered the annoyance of Elizabeth slipping his grasp, his happiness with Dem allowed him to set that aside. It was past. Francis had grown up along side him as Verity had done and that bond still had strength for all Ross had been angered. "Happy Christmas, Francis!" He meant it. "It's good to see you, Ross! Come, let's save your wife from Aunt Agatha's fortune telling!" Ross laughed at that. His elderly Aunt Agatha was somewhat of a mystic and consulted a pack of tarot cards regularly as well as having a raft of superstitions and old folk wisdom at her disposal. In the large parlor, Agatha abandoned her tarot cards and rum to pepper Dem with good natured if impudent questions. That Dem had gone to Hempel school was a mark in her favor for Agatha knew the name and it marked Dem as a lady in her eyes. "So, bud, got yourself bedded and wedded, did you?" Agatha cackled. "Aunt Agatha!" scolded Verity. " She d'know I don't mean nothing by it!" There by informing Dem of that fact. "Pretty little thing," she patted Dem's hand affectionately. "Nice and sweet at that age."She looked up at Ross who set the guitars by the fireplace. He stood up quickly as Agatha barked in an imposing voice, "Ross! You bin too long away, boy!" Ross looked contrite which Dem found interesting. Jud and Prudie could also compel him to behave in that stern tone. If they were sometimes like parents to Ross, Aunt Agatha seemed to be like a grandmother. Francis spoke up for Ross. "Well, Aunt, Ross is so often galavanting with his band. He was away in Europe for some months, weren't you, Ross?" Ross smiled a grateful smile at Francis. "That is so." Ross often felt at odds with others but, sometimes, even he felt the pull of belonging to others for all he often resisted it. Agatha looked from Francis to Ross, looked from Verity to Elizabeth and back to Dem. Looked them all in the eye. There wasn't much she missed. "I be ninety-one and seen six generations o' Poldarks. You young 'uns need to look out for each other. Me n' Charles won't be here to make you mind forever." Cowed like a room full of school children they all murmured "Yes, Aunt Agatha."
At that Charles entered the room, strenuously leaning on a cane, which surprised Ross. "Ross, my boy! And your missus! Your servant, ma'am!" he teased with a twinkle in his eye that put Dem at ease. One could see the strand within the Poldarks that made the men imposing and difficult but possess a charm that drew one in, very clearly, in Charles. "Elizabeth! Verity! There's no drinks about! Don't let their throats go dry on Christmas Eve!" They settled by the fire. Charles teased Dem by insisting her favorite drink was Babycham, a pear cider, that allowed him to poke fun at both of them over Demelza's age and get away with it. Ross smiled the boyish smile she liked best and she suppressed a giggle. The Trenwith visit was not as scary as she had feared. They had a pleasant chat by the fire. Geoffery Charles was brought to the parlor by his nurse and greeted the gathered relatives by standing, wide eyed, with his finger in his mouth. They complimented him and wished him Merry Christmas before he was whisked away again. After an enjoyable chat with drinks and shelled nuts, Mrs. Tabb, the housekeeper, came to the parlor to say that dinner was served.
Dem was seated between Elizabeth and Aunt Agatha. Ross was between Verity and Francis. Charles sat at the head of the table with a paper crown on his head, from a Christmas cracker and demanded that the others follow suit. Ross smiled. Christmas could smooth away the most stubborn problems. He'd felt dread earlier over coming to Trenwith and it had not been anywhere as difficult as he had feared. The night was pleasant all round. Dem didn't seem to be eating much but she looked relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself. Elizabeth was an impeccable hostess, so what ever misgivings she had in June over them did not show. Dem excused herself from the table as the desserts were being laid. She could hear their happy conversation, faintly, as she hurried upstairs to a hall bathroom where she lost her Christmas meal. Dem went to the sink to rinse her mouth. With that, as unpleasant as it was, she felt much better. She took time to collect herself before she went back down.
When she returned, Dem was surprised to find guests had arrived. Unannounced and willing to pop by to pay the compliments of the season were George Warleggan and his uncle, Cary, and young John Treneglos with his new wife Ruth, nee Teague. Dem looked to Ross who winked at her. He knew Ruth Teague had been a thorn in Dem's side at school. He let her know with a wink that he would look out for her. Demelza smiled. Time had passed and Ruth did not touch her life. If anything, Ruth seemed ill at ease. Dem was a glamorous rebel. She had been Ross Poldark's ward as well as the prettiest girl in school. Now she was Ross Poldark's wife and a guitarist too. At school, Ruth relished any opportunity to take that wretched brat down a peg. It had not made a difference. Dem was ascendant and Ruth knew it. Ruth looked annoyed rather than her usual smug look of superiority. Elizabeth and Francis, who had no knowledge of Ruth's relationship as Dem's school nemesis were being cordial to the Warleggans. They were, rapaciously, buying up small record labels and trying to consolidate them into a label that would rival EMI and Warner Group. They were often in the same social circles and George was Geoffery Charles' godfather. Ross remained aloof. He knew George at school and never though much of him. He was another moth drawn to Elizabeth's flame. All the boys had wanted her, so long ago...
The seating had been reshuffled. Agatha had retired and John Treneglos was in her place. Ruth was some seats away by the older Warleggan. They carried on with dessert and Dem enjoyed it without fear of being sick again. John, agog at sitting next to Dem in real life-he'd seen her in the papers-kept up a steady stream of amusing talk that baffled Ruth and amused Ross. Dem blinked at him prettily and answered his questions and comments in a light and carefree manner. It could be seen as flirting. Ruth raised her voice. "So Dem, did you collect all the articles that were written about you this summer?" Dem laughed. "No! It was like an avalanche! I expect there were many we didn't even see, people dearly love a gossip!" John laughed with her, annoying Ruth more. "Ha! Too right!" he said in his upper class, toff, braying voice. "A Merry Christmas and damnation to all gossips!" There was laughter from all at the table and Ruth was obliged to look amused. Charles gave a theatrical belch that the group took pains to ignore. "Damn wind...Let's get back to the parlor. Elizabeth promised to play after dinner and Ross and Dem have their guitars with 'em!"

III. In My Life

They gathered in the large parlor. Dem sat with Verity and Ruth remained at her husband's side. Francis and Ross stood by the mantle as Charles settled himself in the best chair and Elizabeth sat at the harp. She played beautifully. She looked up from time to time and gave a charming look to the assembled guests as she plucked out a winsome version of 'The Holly And The Ivy' and then 'Good King Wenceslas' that whispered the Christmas spirit to the heart. Dem was impressed. There was more to Elizabeth than she had considered. She was very good. They applauded her and then Ross and Dem were persuaded to play. They sat facing each other with their cracker crowns still on. Ross' was purple and Dem's was blue. They played 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' in a sprightly, intricate style that was upbeat and irresistible fun. They traded lines in the middle of the song, almost teasing each other, as if they were playing a game of tag, both looking towards each other more often than they spared a glance at their fingering on their guitars. Ross' eyes met Dem's and they sparkled with a merriment the Trenwith Poldarks found surprising. Ross rarely looked as unabashedly happy as he did now. Verity was charmed, recognizing how happy love could make a person, and looked forward to seeing Andrew at New Years. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, with a curdle of jealousy in it. Francis was wistful. He could not pretend there was no love between himself and Elizabeth for all their troubles, but they hadn't shared a spark quite like the one between Ross and his young wife. John Treneglos was tapping his toe, excited to see these two in real life, you could see why the papers made such a fuss over them! Ruth snorted a quiet harumph of derision, you couldn't see why the papers made such a fuss over them, who could care about a dirty old man and his child slag? Cary Warleggan's eyebrows raised. He flashed a look of interest to George who shook his head sternly and mouthed 'EMI'. Cary scowled. Ross was signed to EMI and George could see Cary's eyes lit with the idea they could cajole Demelza to signing with Warleggan Group. A girl as pretty as that who could play guitar just as well as her talented husband was a licence to print money as far as Cary was concerned. It was just his luck EMI had their talons in them. George had it on good authority that Demelza had been in EMI Recording Studios, over the summer, working on something serious. Even if she could be talked round, Ross had always been an unbearably arrogant and possessive person, all through school. Ross, possibly, fell out of his mother that obnoxious. He would never allow his wife to be signed away from EMI and he would tell his uncle so when they were on their own afterwards. Charles looked on, content. He had no illusions. This was, most likely, the last Christmas with him at the helm but he was able to enjoy it for the kids seemed better settled. His brother had it hard, what with the loss of his younger son and then his wife. He'd let Ross down in some ways. Charles often felt guilty over Ross. Maybe he should have mentored him when Joshua went off the rails so hard. Ross didn't deserve to be a black sheep. Joshua's carrying on did Ross no favors. But Ross had made something of himself-how many of these long haired musicians actually get a label like EMI to pay them any mind?-and he had a wife to look after him now. Ross had landed on his feet and done it on his own terms, with his own wits. He was a proper Poldark, to be sure.
They looked smitten and happy as they took their applause. Dem looked to Ruth as she retrieved the glass of port she'd left by her chair on the hearth. "Now Ruth must play something!" She said this knowing full well that Ruth couldn't play a note of anything. "Oh! Oh, no I couldn't!" said Ruth trying not to show her alarm. Dem smiled over her glass. "Oh? Not musical, Ruth? Did your governess not teach you?" Ross hid his smile behind his glass. Dem enjoyed that barb entirely too much. "Perhaps we should have a carol!" said Verity not sensing the exchange between Dem and Ruth was poisonous. Charles gave a roar of a laugh. "That's a grand idea! What about it, young Warleggan? What's your choice?" George, feeling festive and gratified that he was accepted in a society family such as the Trenwith Poldarks said, "I expect we should take our leave soon. Shouldn't 'Silent Night' finish us off in the spirit of the season?" Charles approved. "Well chosen, sir! Have we all got drinks in hand?' This was seen to be true. "A toast then," said Charles. "Happy Christmas and a banger of a 1969!"
"Happy Christmas!"
Elizabeth was asked to accompany them on her harp and the all sang 'Silent Night' in an unabashed, joyous way. Dem raised her glass to Elizabeth after she clinked glasses with Verity and Elizabeth, still playing, nodded with a sphinx like smile. Ross and Francis looked to each other and smiled. "Merry Christmas, cousin."said Francis as they clinked their glasses. "Merry Christmas." said Ross. The ice had thawed. It was a merry Christmas indeed.

Garrick was asleep in the parlor having had a good gnaw on the bone Dem left for him. Ross, very gently, took the purple tissue crown off his head and placed it on Garrick's head. This gave them a few minutes entertainment before it fell off on to the floor. They returned the guitars to their stands. Ross crouched down to plug the tree lights back on. "Do you want some tea?' asked Ross. Even Ross couldn't face more alcohol. "Yes, that would be lovely." said Dem as she took off her shoes and sat on the sofa, admiring their quite modest, but very charming, Christmas tree, set between the two older benches by the windows. Ross went to get the tea made. He returned with the pot, two cups and a bit more cake as well. They set the tray between them, drinking their tea and pinching off bits of cake to eat with their fingers. They enjoyed just sitting quiet in their own parlor having gotten through the party and actually had a nice time. Ross was pleased that Dem charmed his relatives and Dem was happy that Elizabeth had not been a trouble to them. Ross licked a bit of marzipan off his finger and Dem passed him a napkin. He wiped his fingers and mouth, moved the tray and sat next to Dem with his arm around her. They admired the tree. "That wasn't so bad."said Ross
At length, they turned off the tree and went up to bed. As Ross undressed, he thought about Agatha's admonishment of them today. Charles wasn't looking well, for all his holiday bluster and Agatha was quite old. Francis and Ross would be the heads of the family and he wasn't sure either of them were ready for that. Maybe when he and Dem start having children... They snuggled under the covers. Ross yawned. "You disappeared after dinner..." Dem smiled. Now was as good a time as any. "I felt sick." Ross frowned. "Sick?" She lay her head under his chin and hugged him more. "Yes, but that's to be expected when you're pregnant..." Ross gasped. "What?!" She looked up into his face. "We're going to have a baby, Ross!" He sat up. Dem followed suit. He was going to be a father. He was going to be a father! They stared at each other and then started laughing. "Dem!" He couldn't think of anything else to say. She smiled at him, warmly. "Merry Christmas, Ross!" He took her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, each cheek and her mouth, reverent and slowly, like some sort of ancient pagan ceremony. He rolled her onto the bed and kissed her neck. He raised himself on one elbow and smiled into her eyes.
"Merry Christmas, my love."
They stared at each other and with a loving and tender look, he bent down to kiss her mouth.

Chapter Text

"Dem! Stop that at once!"

Ross came to the front of the house with an arm full of groceries only to find his heavily pregnant wife in an old dress that had been stretched by the baby's bump, digging under the lilac tree with a shovel. He set the cardboard box on the front step of the house and took the shovel away from her. "I don't require you to crochet and sip tea but you shouldn't be shoveling in your condition! What are you thinking?!" Dem smiled at Ross. "I was reading that it was good for trees to put the placenta under the roots, like food..." She was a little winded. She felt it better not to mention that she wanted to move about because her pains had started about twenty minutes ago. "It has to be deep so Garrick can't get at it." Ross looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "I'll finish the hole, Dem. Go inside." She bent down to pick up the shopping. "Dem! Leave that be and go sit down!" She rolled her eyes and went into the house.

Ross had been a nervous wreck as the baby was close to being born. Demelza was taken aside by Prudie to remind her that his mother, father and Ross had been devastated by the death of Claude, Ross' younger brother on top of his parents being dead an' all.
"He don't mean to fret you so, but he can't help hisself." For that reason, Dem kept from complaining too much. Prudie knew May was hard for Ross anyway. His mother died on the 9th of May and Ross was, in some ways, superstitiously afraid of the month. Prudie declined to tell Demelza that. No point in fretting the maid about Ross' unreasonable fears when the mite was near due.
As Demelza's bump enlarged, Ross started to hector her more, though they did enjoy themselves and the pregnancy. In the winter months, after dinner, Dem would have her bath and then padded about the house in Ross' shirts and a fuzzy cardigan with her legs poking out-barely decent, thought the Paynters who occasionally caught an eyeful of her as they left for the day. They would curl up on the sofa together by the fire or she would loll on one side while he played guitar. Ross would lead her to bed and they would lie close. Ross was incapable of keeping his hands off of her. She glowed like a goddess and had a subtle plumpness about her as the baby grew. By April, the weather had turned warm and fine-quite rare in Cornwall-and they wandered the fields, they walked the water's edge, they wandered among the blossom frosted apple tress and then she would sit on his lap as Ross stole kisses and rested his hand on the baby's bump. When it did rain, they would play records or the guitar. She would fold and refold the little nappies and blankets that waited in readiness for the blessed event and imagined the baby dreaming the same contented dreams she did. Dem could feel the little person turn and stretch inside her. She even felt the baby hiccuping, which made her laugh like a drain. And she laughed with joy when she felt her skin stretch as a little foot or elbow actually pressed forward enough to bump the back of Dem's guitar. Ross just about dropped his Gibson in his haste to come to her side and feel it himself with his hand. Feeling the movement through Dem's skin. They looked at each other, struck with wonder. Their baby.

Ross brought over a wide, flat stone, probably broken away from the stone wall, and set it up against the wall of the house by the lilac tree. He'd cap the hole with it once the placenta was down there. It was revolting enough she wanted to do it, Ross couldn't bear it if Garrick unearthed it. He brought the groceries in, annoyed to have to brush some ants off of the box. Satisfied there were no more, he brought it in. He declined to mention the ants to Dem for she would have scolded him that he should have let her bring them in. Maybe she was even right but he couldn't help being anxious. As it came nearer to Dem's time, the reality that he would be a father started dawning on him in a way that had been abstract up to this point.

The midwife arrived with a gas cylinder in a wheeled stand like a suitcase around four in the afternoon. Dem had a contraction at quarter after three that compelled her to crawl about on all fours in the parlor and mewl like a farm animal. Ross called the midwife and paced about. Prudie, sternly, told him to wait out front for the midwife and walked Dem upstairs. She cooed and clucked over her as Dem bitterly denounced fucking around with Ross. "What was I thinking?" she whined as she felt her back hurting her, taking the steps slowly, leaning heavily into Prudie's firm grasp. "How on earth is a full sized baby supposed to come out of my..." Prudie became sharp with her then, "You stop that miner's talk and get upstairs with ee! You ain't the first woman to birth a babby! For pity's sake! Upstairs with ee!" Ross led the midwife upstairs. Demelza had been installed in her old room and there were quite a lot of sheets and towels about. Ross helped bring the little gas cylinder in and sat on the bed next to Dem. She looked bedraggled but smiled at him. He gave her a peck of a kiss on her forehead. Prudie barked at him, "Aw right, aw right, out wi' ee!" Ross looked at Dem and was reluctant to leave but even Dem looked at him expectant that he leave this business to the women.
"I love you." he said, like a reprimanded kid.
Dem smiled, though he could see discomfort in it.
"I love you too. I'll have a friend for you in a little while..."

Ross stomped back downstairs, banished. Garrick also seemed antsy at his mistress' distress so Ross opened the door to let him out, only to find he would not go. 'We're a fine pair...' thought Ross. He went into the kitchen which smelled deliciously of chicken broth, simmering on the hob, and distractedly munched on some biscuits. Jud looked over his newspaper at Ross with a funny little grin. 'Young Ross was pacing about like ol' Joshua, stuffing his face wi' biccies, just the same...' he thought. They heard Dem groan. Ross sat with a thud in the chair nearest to Jud. "They knows what they's about! Don't do to have a bloke about 'em, you settle yerself down 'ere." Ross nodded and Jud cajoled him into playing cards.
At quarter to six, Prudie came down to see to supper. Ross and Jud looked up, anxiously, as she entered. Dem was screaming in earnest earlier. "The poor maid used up the cylinder..." Ross' mouth fell open. "She hasn't got any more relief?" "Aye, they did send for another but, even anyhow, she'll drop that babby afore it do come." "Oh god, poor Dem!" Ross stood. "Si'down!" snapped Prudie, "She don't need ee up there!" Having dished up a hearty serving of pie for each of them, she went back upstairs. Dr. Choke arrived with a nurse and the second cylinder at six thirty. Ross had an irrational dislike of Dr. Choke because his father was always curt with him and that dislike transferred to him. They shook hands. Dr. Choke had seen wild looking young people like Ross on television and in the newspapers. Poldark and his wife had been in the newspaper themselves, held up as an example of the disintegration of moral fiber that was bringing Britain down. What could one expect with a father like Joshua...? He was about to say some courteous nothingness when Dem screamed the house down. And then silence. And then a infant's cry.

Ross stared at the ceiling with the happiest smile his face could produce. Dr. Choke, the nurse and Ross rushed upstairs. Prudie let the doctor and nurse pass but stood in Ross' way. "Where do you think you be goin'?" Ross was jubilant and cross at the same time. It was a peculiar feeling. "But..." he started. Prudie crossed her arms. "She and the mite be fine! But they ain't decent! You get back in the kitchen where ee belong, ye daft article! They ain't got out the placentee!"
Ross looked sulky as he went back downstairs. After about twenty minutes, Prudie came downstairs with a tin basin and set it on the table in front of Jud and Ross. They recoiled. "She said ee knew what to do wi' it!" she smirked. Then, more softly, "You settle that outside an' yer two gurls 'll be all prettied up, waitin' on you." She smiled fondly and patted Ross' shoulder. "This be yer first proper job as a fathur!" Jud slapped his knee and he and Prudie started laughing. Ross smiled. He took the hideous looking placenta to go out through the back door. Garrick barked and started to bound around him. "Down Garrick! Get down!" Garrick lay on the floor of the hall and lay his snout on his paws, snuffling his displeasure. A placenta that smelled like Mummy might as well have been a Christmas pudding set on fire with brandy and that greedy, two legged, so and so paraded it through the house but won't let him have any of it! Garrick barked what could only be seen as a tirade of abuse at Ross as the queen of all puddings was whisked outside.

It was still light enough outside. Ross tipped the basin into the hole and pushed the dirt back in with the shovel. His mother planted this lilac tree and now they were feeding it with their child's afterbirth. How strange... He wondered, as he set the stone over the hole and went to rinse the basin with the garden hose, set it aside, a bit squeamish about bringing it back into the house. Thought, as he washed his hands and gave his face a rinse as well, what sort of uncle might Claude have been? What wry jokes would Papa have made when Dem became pregnant? How doting and loving a grandmother Mama would have been? That sadness was never far away for Ross. It was his companion in someways. But he was happy too. His family was gone but he and Dem were their own family now. Their mothers were both dead and Dem's father pushed out of their lives. His father and brother long gone but, today, they might be smiling, where ever they are...

Tucked up in Ross and Dem's bed, Dem and the sleeping baby took Ross' breath away. He came to sit by her and kissed her mouth. They admired their daughter. He gently ran his finger across her brow. A fine sheen of strawberry blond hair covered her head and her mouth opened and shut a little, even as she slept, and dreamed-what would a newborn dream? Her eyes moved under her eyelids and she was the prettiest baby in the world.
"She's beautiful..." said Dem
"You're beautiful..." said Ross, awed at Demelza's strength. She was serene now. She'd been through hell, he knew that, but now she was calm, and happy, and proud and so very beautiful. So gorgeous, his dearest wife...
"Do you want to hold her?" Ross was nervous, but he knew this would be the first of many times so he steeled himself and carefully, timidly, took her from Dem and looked down upon his daughter. May was a cruel month for Ross. He'd lost his mother and, if he could peel back the layers of his psyche enough, secretly worried he had caused her demise and that of his brother, who died at winter time, with his evil thoughts of jealousy and sibling rivalry as a child himself. He carried a great deal of guilt that of them all, his parents, his brother, Ross remained alive. Sometimes he wondered why. Why of all of them was he still here? He had no real answer. Today, looking at his new born daughter, having made a little girl with Dem, there was perhaps, a reason for him to be in the world. That he be tethered to his world rather than aloof to it.

They named her Julia, meaning youthful. A shadow of the name lay in words like jubilant and jubilee, quite fitting for she gave Ross and Demelza joy.

Chapter Text

"Aw... what you fiddlin' wi that babby for...? Aw... come to yer Prudie, lamb..."
Prudie whisked Julia away from a profoundly grateful Ross. Julia kept hours that would defeat the most pilled up of Mods. Ross and Dem were exhausted. Prudie smiled indulgently. "'Ere, you wash up and get some kip, I got the little 'un." Jud called from the hall. "An' if ee be wise, you lot 'll sleep in that bed 'stead of tryin' to make another one of them things!" nodding toward Julia. Prudie gave a soft chuckle, so as not to startle the baby and Ross turned on his heel, refusing to dignify Jud's comment.

Ross ran a bath and blinked himself awake, realizing that he had dozed as the water filled. He was that tired. He pulled the drain to let some of the water out and then peered around the bedroom door. "Dem?" She looked up from ferrying more nappies from the washing line and folding them. They both had content in their smiles for all they were overtired. "Prudie's looking after Julia. Come have a bath." She could have wept from gratitude. They had bathed Julia, but they were worse for wear and, quite frankly, both stank from Dem's milk. Dem because she was nursing and Ross because Julia was so expert at spitting it back up on him. They sank into the hot water and promptly fell asleep were they lay.

A series of thuds on the bathroom door and Julia, making her displeasure known at being kept waiting for a meal. They snapped awake with a start. The water was cold and they both had the disorientation of being in water rather than their bed, casting splashes about the floor as they understood their surroundings and woke up properly. Prudie bellowed from the other side of the door, "The little madam wants feedin'!" Dem answered. "I'll be right there!" She and Ross, still groggy, with the dry eyed daze of a sleep that had not rested them and stiff from sleeping in a bathtub, left the tub and hurriedly dried themselves. "You lie down, Ross, I'll see to her." They exchanged tired smiles and Dem went to get Julia, wrapped in a robe. "There's a love..." said Prudie as she handed Julia over to Demelza. "You settle yerself. There be some apple cake when ee be ready for it." Dem sighed. "Thank you, Prudie." Dem ate for England these days. She was still slender. The bit of weight she put on from carrying Julia evaporated as she nursed her. Julia, knowing that luncheon was now available, wasted no time in drinking her fill. Dem sat back in the armchair, covered by a quilt to help avoid getting milk on it, and fell into the strange hypnotism of nursing Julia. The tug of Julia's mouth had hurt at first. Dem was a little afraid in the beginning for the pinch of pain she'd felt as Julia rooted and took hold of her was horrible. Her nipples hurt and the milk had come in so fast, her breasts hurt as well. But that time had passed. Nursing Julia was a pleasure for Julia was fed and the strange surge of milk leaving her body, draining forward, left Dem suspended in a state of contentment. She looked to Ross, utterly knackered in their bed and smiled. She would have her tea and apple cake without him.

Ross felt sheepish about going to London, but duty called. Resurgam was scheduled to have new promotional photos taken and there were decisions to be made about what they would do next. He'd enjoyed being at Nampara with his new daughter, but he'd be lying if he didn't relish having proper sleep. Ross felt a bit guilty over it too. Dem was forever in the front line. He was happy to be her second in command but it was Dem who put every ounce of herself into Julia's care. He was in awe of it sometimes, the bond between Dem and Julia. He sat outside of it, as much as he loved both of them. They were linked and he could witness the bond but not enter it. It was like a miracle. They made another person...He had his own bond with Julia, his own secret life and secret dreams. It gave him happiness to think on it. His little girl. Ross had grown up with cousins and enjoyed their friendship. He knew he was not the only Poldark but after the death of his younger brother, Ross felt he had been cleaved of the right to feel the closeness of being a sibling, denied the happiness of being 'his sort' of Poldark. After the death of his mother, there was only he and his father left. After his father died, Ross was distraught enough in his loneliness to turn to heroin, trying to stuff down his immense sadness of being 'the last Nampara Poldark standing'. His little family was a balm on that pain. Julia and Ross were a pair now. Two proper Poldarks together. His love for Julia was primal. He curled up to sleep in the London flat and fell asleep thinking happy thoughts and dreaming happy dreams for his daughter. He and Dem would look after her and give her siblings and he would do everything he could to keep her free of the sadness that shadowed his own life. His children, Julia first, would give him the love and security of having his own family. Security he had craved for most of his life.

"There he is! What's up, Daddy-o!" said Ned as he and Dwight waved to Ross as he approached. It was a wonder what a decent night's sleep could do. Ross felt very much himself again. Dwight and Ned gave him their congratulations and the photo shoot went well for they were all relaxed and in a good mood. One of the most republished Resurgam pictures came from this session. The one with Ned, leaning back against a lamp post, flanked by Dwight and Ross that happened to catch a flock of birds in flight in the sky behind them. They went to have a meal afterwards. Ross was circumspect about the effort it took to look after a newborn. 'No point in scaring them' thought Ross. Ned and Dwight promised they would visit Dem and the baby at Nampara soon and they parted. They would tour in a few months, but stay in the U.K. They would be close to home this time.

Dem was still convalescing but she was able to receive visitors in the parlor, tucked up on the sofa with Julia nearby in a carry cot. Verity came to visit, loaded down with masses of adorable baby clothes, and admired Julia who slept, good as gold, when visitors came to call. "Demelza, she's beautiful!" gushed Verity. "She's a picture now, "laughed Dem. "You wouldn't believe how loud she can be!" Dem looked fondly upon Julia. Verity could see that she was happy. "How do you feel?" Verity was curious to know. She and Andrew had been dating since Ross and Dem got married and Verity had a suspicion that she may follow suit. Dem hesitated. Giving birth was the most pain she'd ever felt, her sleep was disrupted to the point of lunacy and breastfeeding had been quite hard going at first..."Oh, Verity, I feel wonderful! Motherhood is wonderful!" And it wasn't, any bit of it, a lie.

Julia, a stern task mistress, was very cross at being left in her crib when the arms of her parents were clearly preferable. Ross scooped her up, in his pajama bottoms-he'd learnt the hard way that it spared laundry to keep his pajama shirt off-began waltzing her about the hallway rather than pacing the bedroom. She enjoyed the closeness and was content to coo and babble a stream of encouragement to him rather than sleep as she lay against Ross' chest. It was difficult to maintain his grievance with her when Julia was this happy. Her hours were upside down. Perhaps it was hereditary, they kept strange hours siring her. Dem popped her head around the bedroom door. As adorable as it was to see Ross partner their daughter, she would rather compel her to sleep. They exchanged the smiles of two people who would do anything to go back to sleep. "Here, let me have her. You'll keep her awake dancing around like that." He handed Julia to Dem, but not before waltzing both of his ladies a step or two more. He kissed Julia's head and kissed Dem's cheek. "I'll be back in a moment..." Ross went downstairs. Dem stayed in the bedroom, rubbing Julia's back, pacing the smaller confines of their room. Dem murmured encouragement that the baby should sleep even as Julia kept up a steady stream of encouragement that Dem continue to entertain her. Ross returned with his black Gibson and sat at the head of the bed. He started playing Pachelbel's Canon, very slowly, drawn out and with an edge of melancholy in it for all it was beautiful. Dem set the gentle stroke of her hand on Julia's back in time with Ross' playing, relishing Julia's sweet, milky breath and warmth as she curled her fingers around Dem's shoulder. She would be forgiven for disrupting their night once more. Ross and Dem would grumble but always stopped short of leaving their annoyance at the feet of their charge. Julia tempered her demands with her love for them, a wide eyed, gurgling appreciation for these two obedient servants who anticipated her every need and gave her all the warmth and food and love she required. She had trained them well.

Julia blinked slowly, trying to focus on the sound of the guitar, yawned and closed her eyes. She fell silent. There was only the soft press of her cheek and quiet rasp of breath as she, finally, fell asleep. Dem raised her eyebrow to Ross as she turned to show him Julia had succumbed to sleep. Ross raised his eyebrow back and then, to be cheeky, started playing 'Something' by The Beatles, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth as Dem glared at him, briefly. They chuckled, softly. They'd thwarted Julia's sleep more than once with ill timed laughter between them. Dem lay Julia back in the crib and joined Ross who'd set his guitar to the side on the floor. He settled around her, let her curl against him and put an arm around her. They lay quiet, relieved to be able to sleep. The pillows were that much softer, the warmth of their bodies that much more of a comfort, when one was as tired as they were. It was a little over a year since Demelza had played 'Something' to Ross, on a restless June night and set the events into motion that gave them their daughter. Gave them the right to sink into each other's warmth and love each other, enjoy the giving and receiving of love. They had been sleepless that night too. They might have remarked upon that fact had they not fallen into a very deep, very sweet slumber.

Chapter Text

I. My Girl

Francis, in a light blue polo shirt, dark trousers and brown suede loafers, drove to Nampara with a lemon cake, baked by Mrs. Tabb, that he knew Ross favored. Geoffrey Charles sat, preternaturally still in a jaunty sailor suit, between Verity in an emerald green shift dress with false pocket flaps sewn on the front. Elizabeth sat to his other side in pink Capri pants and a crisp, white button down shirt, letting her hand gently stroke Geoffrey's hair as she watched Nampara come into view-the modest stone farmhouse that mirrored the individuality of its owners, their cousins, Ross and Demelza.
They parked and disembarked, both Verity and Elizabeth wore sunglasses and white plimsolls. Verity's were a cat's eye shape and Elizabeth's a larger, rounder style. They found the Nampara cousins not at home but already awaiting them outside. "They be by the orchard." said Prudie as she shaded her eyes with her one hand, watching Jud in the distance, pruning back some bushes, rather than paying much mind to the guests. Francis had not been to Nampara for some time but he and Verity, unthinkingly, turned to the orchard's direction and walked there. The ingrained memories of their childhood, at once, guided their steps. Elizabeth held the cake and Francis put Geoffrey on his shoulders. The day was fine with strands of bright, white clouds in the blue sky and everything about them green and fresh smelling. Verity held two plaid rugs, folded one on top of the other, to sit on, and they came upon their hosts at the mouth of the apple grove. The sunlight touched the edge of their plaid blanket and then turned to sun dappled shade over them all with the shadows of the trees, waving gently in the breeze. Ross lay stretched across the blanket. He had on a dark green tee shirt with odd bursts of white in random places on it, a tie dye shirt, and blue jeans. He had Julia on his lap, holding her hands in his and letting her lay against one of his legs, hitched up like a little chair for her. Dem sat across from them by the empty carry cot, playing a guitar with mother of pearl flowers that glistened under her quick moving fingers. She wore a loose, cotton dress, white with flowered embroidery around the collar and cuffs with a deep v neck. A small placket of tiny shell buttons was just visible behind the guitar. Her long legs jutted out from beneath the instrument. His canvas shoes and her leather sandals lay in a jumble, off to the side, next to the empty basket that ferried the picnic fare. On the blanket sat a large square tin with its lid on, a plate of sandwiches with a wire mesh cover over them, being marauded by two bees. A sweating pitcher of lemonade, with a bee who met its reward floating on the surface, on a tray with glass tumblers waiting at attention. There was a platter of grapes and apples and an open tin filled with scones with a pot of jam set inside with them. Julia gave the approaching guests an encouraging smile. Seeing her smile widen, Ross jutted his chin to look at them arrive, his face upside down to them. "They're here!" Ross said, still smiling up at them. Dem stopped playing and waved. It would be sensible to stand to greet them, but Julia was comfortable and it was a picnic after all...
They came nearer. Rather than the Poldark in him, stamped as clearly on him as Verity and Francis, something about Ross' dark curls of hair spread about, his face tilted the wrong way round at them, one saw what Vennor had gotten in him. Verity and Francis were struck by a subtle look of Aunt Grace in Ross they had not considered before. Verity hurried ahead, set the rugs down and came to kneel by Ross and smiled at Julia who laughed her greeting. Verity thought of the dinky, plastic bower birds on their wedding cake. Ross and Dem and their little girl in their own bower-shaded by fruit trees and carpeted with bluebells beyond the spread rug. Francis let Geoffrey Charles down who immediately went to hold Elizabeth's leg. Elizabeth smiled down at him with affection. She looked up and smiled the same smile to Ross and Dem though, inwardly, she remained surprised at her hosts. She still could not understand why they were content to slum about like raggamuffins. The baby, in a little blue flowered frock with matching bloomers to cover her nappy-and that a gift from Verity-looked better dressed than her parents.
Verity pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, like an Alice band, and lifted Julia off of Ross' lap. This allowed Ross to sit up and greet his guests as verity snuggled the child who was irresistibly friendly. "She likes you." said Ross fondly. Who would not like Verity? Her calm, loving manner shone from her. "Hello Francis! Elizabeth! And Geoffrey!" At this, Geoffrey gave a smile of his own, though still clinging to his mother like a limpet. Ross, startling the Trenwith Poldarks with his good mood, crouched down to Geoffrey Charles' level and asked, "May I introduce you to your cousin, Julia?" The little boy nodded and Ross led him by the hand to Verity's side, taking a glance at Dem who smiled prettily at them all. Dem set the guitar aside, stood, and went to thank and accept the cake from Elizabeth. They gave each other the fond, placid gaze of two women who agreed to be the good host and the good guest. Francis kissed Dem's cheek and smiled warmly. Ross was happier than he'd ever seen him and he believed Dem to be the agent of that happiness. "Hello, Dem" She smiled back. "Hello! Let's get your blankets settled." She and Francis picked up the rugs that Verity had set down and shook them out to lay with their own. Geoffrey Charles and Julia smiled at each other and Julia grabbed his nose which Geoffrey found funny. They laughed together at this very rich joke, to Elizabeth's private relief. Geoffrey could be so sensitive sometimes. She was pleased he didn't sulk or grumble over it. She was charmed, they were very cute together. She marveled at Ross' kind introduction and gentle manner with the children. Ross was a fount of surprises. "Would you like to hold Julia, Elizabeth?" asked Dem. "Yes! I've been looking forward to it all morning, she's a darling!" Elizabeth, expertly, picked up Julia from Verity and dandled her with the sweetness and sparkle eyed interest of a person who genuinely likes babies. Ross smiled up at them, still kneeling by Verity and Geoffrey. Julia blinked happily at her. "She looks very much like Dem." said Elizabeth, "Though she has your eyes, Ross." He smiled wider. Francis and Dem looked briefly at each other and felt the subtle acknowledgement, the sudden sympathy for each other, that their roles as spouses were, perhaps, quite similar. The seasick feeling of Elizabeth and Ross interacting with each other. Not wanting to read more into them but helpless to stop. Verity looked between them all. 'Isn't life complicated?' she thought. Dem came to sit with Verity as she lifted the lid from the square tin. "We have sausage rolls!" There was a murmur of approval from the assembled guests. Elizabeth restored Julia to Ross and they began the meal. The wind was soft, the rustle of leaves, a gentle background and they supped, and talked and, once the bee was fished out of the pitcher, drank.

II. Tell Mama

By the time they'd finished, Julia was asleep in the carry cot and most everything was eaten up. "Shall we go inside for cake? We have no tea out here." asked Demelza. This was seen to be a good idea. With so many helping hands, their picnic was broken up and carried away in a snap. Dem carried her twelve string, Ross carried Julia, still sleeping prettily, and the others brought the rest of the odds and ends with Geoffrey Charles bearing a folded rug as if he was charged with very important work. They had cake in the parlor. Ross let Francis consult the record collection and 'Time Out' by the Dave Brubeck Quartet was chosen to play at a low volume as they enjoyed their tea and cake and conversation. Afterward, Ross and Francis sat on the pews, talking of this and talking of that as Geoffrey Charles dozed against Francis' side. The ladies sat on the sofa with Julia set by Dem. Elizabeth smiled, indulgently. "You should wake her soon or she'll not sleep the night." Dem demurred. She knew she and Ross had been a bit foolish about leaving Julia resting in the afternoon and paying for it at night. She was hesitant, she'd have to nur..."Oh!" Dem blinked with surprise as wet marks appeared on her front. Milk had come forward of its own accord, soaking two little circles on the blouse of her cotton dress. They soon widened and the fabric went transparent enough to show her nipples clearly. "I should take her up, I think." Dem murmured. Ross saw her blush crimson but he couldn't help finding it sweet. Of course, that happening in front of guests was an embarrassment to her, but she nourished Julia and had a mother's love for their daughter and it charmed him. He got up to give her a napkin but Elizabeth beat him to it. She deftly plucked a clean nappy from the foot of the carry cot, without waking Julia, shook it open and gently draped it across Dem so she was covered up. Dem held it to herself with her hand. "Thank you." Dem said quietly. She was mortified. That this should happen, and in front of Elizabeth! But Elizabeth had one true calling in her life and that was her mother love for her son. It loomed the largest and was the most real and unadorned aspect of her life. It was the one thing in opposition to all Elizabeth's calculated and performance based behavior. She saw the mother in Dem and it was a condition this cultured and occasionally haughty woman could sympathize with. Though performance returned-the tilt of her head, letting her hair fall just so-her warm countenance when she spoke was pure. She squeezed Dem's free hand and looked directly into her eyes. "A mother's love surpasses all other loves." and gave her hand a gentle pat to reassure her that, in this at least, Elizabeth had not considered Dem common, or vulgar or even a homeless busker. In this, at least, they were equals.
The Trenwith Poldarks took their leave. Geoffrey woke up and said a cheerful goodbye to uncle Ross and Aunt Dem. They thanked Ross and Dem for their lovely afternoon. Verity whispered "We had a lovely day, thank you, Demelza." and a gentle smile to let Dem know that her milk making a show hadn't been a problem. Verity and Elizabeth kissed Dem goodbye and she went upstairs to change clothes and feed her daughter. Ross saw them to the car. He hugged Verity, took Elizabeth's hand and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and leaned into the window of the car to say goodbye to Francis, and to Geoffrey once more who bounced about in the back seat before settling once more to a quiet countenance. Francis grinned at Ross. It had been a lovely day."Thank you, Ross. Give Dem and Julia another hug and a kiss from us." "I will." smiled Ross. "We should do this more often..." said Francis to everyone and no one in particular.

III. I Was Made To Love Her

Dem was nursing Julia in the armchair of their bedroom. She wore a long denim skirt and one of Ross' shirts, unbuttoned, to feed her. Ross leaned against the door frame and smiled at them. They were beautiful. Dem looked up and whimpered, "Oh, Ross! I could just die!" He smiled warmly. "They understood, Dem. No one minded or thought less of you. I've been charged with the responsibility to give you and Julia an extra hug and an extra kiss!" She smiled but was not quite relieved of her embarrassment."Oh Ross..." He sat at the foot of their bed. "They saw Julia's mama, and my wife, and our Dem. We're family, Dem. Francis and Elizabeth like you, as Verity likes you." Ross let her be. Persuading Dem out of her occasional periods of self doubt was a delicate enterprise. If he continued it would fret her more. "How is she?" Dem smiled. "Good as gold! She was so sweet with them all today!" Ross smiled fondly. "Yes, she had a smile for everyone." They sat quiet as Julia finished and babbled her own brief accounting of the enjoyment of the day as Dem gently patted her back, for wind, and crossed the room to change her nappy. Julia babbled to Ross over Dem's shoulder before she was laid down for the diaper and Ross chuckled, wondering if Julia was convinced they understood her. She conversed with him in a series of giggles as if she did. "You were a triumph, Julia! You will have all of Cornwall at your command, I'm sure!" Dem laughed as she deftly changed the soiled diaper. She sighed. "Elizabeth was right, though. We have to stop letting her sleep away the afternoon if we're ever going to get her to sleep the night." Ross sighed. "I expect so, it's such a relief when she sleeps, I don't really consider that we pay for it later." He smiled. "We'll, all three of us together, learn to make it work.
Julia was tidy and fed. The late afternoon had become evening. Still content from gorging on sausage rolls and lemon cake, they settled for a bit of soup rather than a proper dinner. The purplish pink of sunset greeted them as Ross and Dem brought Julia out to sit with them in the lengthening shadows of the garden. Ross sat with Julia on his knee and Dem played her guitar with Garrick resting his head on her outstretched legs as she sat on a blanket next to Ross' chair. "The lemon cake was that good! Do you think Elizabeth would give me the recipe?" Ross let Julia clutch his forefinger. "I expect it's Mrs. Tabb's recipe." Dem blinked from the recognition that this was probably true. "They are quite grand at Trenwith..." she said, more to herself than to Ross. Ross lifted Julia up and rubbed their noses together, making Julia laugh and kick out with her feet before he set her back in his lap. "Yes, Trenwith was built from Grambler Mine, the main workings around here, long ago. Nampara was built from Wheal Grace." He chuckled, directing his talk to Julia, "Ours was quite a little mine..." Julia lay in Ross' lap, still in conversation with her papa. Dem strummed in a pleasant way, snatches of songs, chords that sounded pretty, pottering on a warm summer evening. Garrick, having seen a rabbit some yards away got up to chase it. Ross passed Julia to Dem, still quite chatty and awake. Ross brought Dem's twelve string indoors. They spent time in the parlor. Ross played some of the Motown and Tamla records he'd bought in the States. The rich green smells of a summer night and the 'Sound of Young America' mixed with the contentment of having had such a pleasant day with his family. Garrick, having tuckered himself out from rabbit chasing, curled up to sleep by the unlit fireplace. Ross smiled up at Dem on the sofa, holding Julia who struggled to watch her papa as her eyes blinked to sleep. He sat on the floor in the midst of album covers and paper wrapped 45s, scattered about. "She's almost out..." he said. Dem smiled. "I'll lay her down." A suggestive flutter of her eyelashes. "I'm not quite tired..." Ross started gathering up the records from the floor. He pursed his lips with a knowing look. "Is that so?" She stood, settling Julia at her shoulder. "Ais." They smiled at each other as Dem left the parlor. Ross tided his records and turned off the stereo system, turned out the lights. And the Nampara Poldarks retired for the night.

Chapter Text

I. Brand New Key

After a week of this lunacy, the tenor of their laughter should have been warning enough, but Prudie gave it little thought as she entered the parlor. "My ivers!" She shrieked and covered her eyes with the dust cloth she was holding as Ross and Dem, hurriedly, tried to pull Ross' jeans back up and Dem's skirt back down. Their position on the sofa, Dem's knickers lying, bold as brass, on the carpet and Ross' indelicate exposure left little to the imagination.
"ROSSVENNORPOLDARK! I ain't seen yer bum since ee be a little'un and I don't care to see it now! Take that gurl to yer bed, for pity's sake! The pair of ee 'ave gone 'alf saved!"
She flounced off, in a huff, dimly aware of Ross and Dem giggling as they said, "Sorry, Prudie!" Dem lay on her back, still giggling. "Half saved?" Ross lay his forehead on her stomach. Dem could feel his huff of a laugh as he sat up. "She said we've gone crazy..." He chuckled as he handed her underwear back to her. "...I suppose she's right!" Dem handed them back, coquettishly. "Oh?" Ross raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking to be dressed or undressed?" She sat up and the smile between them was very suggestive. "We've been sent to your room for being naughty." Dem blinked, innocently. Ross smirked as he followed Dem upstairs. "The punishment fits the crime," he said, "but I don't think we are showing quite enough remorse..."

Some hours later (for a nap was deemed necessary) Ross and Dem, somewhat contrite, dared to show their faces for tea. Jud looked over his newspaper at them both, unsmiling. "It be high tide?" he asked Ross. Ross looked at Jud, confused. "High tide?" Jud gave a wry smile. "Aye, Prudie d'say she see'd a full moon afore now!" Ross scrunched his eyes shut as he, Dem and Jud laughed in earnest. Prudie was not amused and Ross' 'bashful little boy' smile served to irritate her more. She rolled her eyes, annoyed to have to scold them for acting so simple. "You lot need to act respectable fer all it be a bloody new toy!" She crossed her arms, glowered at them and turned to Ross. "She ain't got no mothur to tell 'er different! Ee neither, come to that!" Ross and Dem sobered a little at that. Prudie continued. "Ee can 'ave yer carryin' on, but ee's got to be about it fittyways!"
"Yes, Prudie." they both murmured, suitably chastened. Shielded from their view by his newspaper, Jud smiled at Prudie and winked. She smirked, with a little flush of remembrance, they had been young once too... She sighed. "I s'pose ee want yer tea if ee can pull yerselves away from each other fer two minutes!"

They had their tea in companionable silence. Ross and Dem were drinking their tea and eating their biscuits exchanging sly, smitten smiles. Prudie was still a little cross but chose to keep the peace. Jud cleared his throat and turned to Dem. "Ee did ought see t' Garrick. 'E bin whinin' earlier." Dem sat up with a start. "Oh! We didn't have our walk this morning!" She drank down her tea, gave Ross a brief peck of a kiss on the top of his head that made him laugh and Prudie frown. Dem rushed off to make things up to her oldest friend. After she disappeared around the kitchen door, Jud looked to Prudie who topped off Ross and Jud's cups with more tea and set the pot down in a deliberately quiet manner. Ross looked from one to the other. He'd grown up with them long enough to know he was about to receive a dressing down.

II. Straighten Up And Fly Right

Prudie took a sip of tea and spoke to Ross in seriousness. "Ee need to look after Dem proper..." Ross nodded. "Yes, Prudie." she scowled, for she had not finished. "Ee knows full well what folk d'say 'bout you two round 'ere." Ross looked from her to Jud and then to the cup in his hands. "Yes, Prudie." The entire county tittered over Ross bringing an underage girl to Nampara and the gossip never left them. Prudie looked at him, sternly. "It won't do. Ee needs to be wed."
Jud and Prudie were not prepared for Ross to laugh, but he did so, merrily, and they were taken aback and offended. Prudie was incensed. "'Ere! Ee think it be a lark?!" Ross tried to school his face into seriousness. "Prudie..." She was angry now. "It be all well n' good fer ee, eh? Takin' yer pleasure wi' the gurl?!" "Prudie..." Ross tried again. "Don't ee 'Prudie' me! You lot are gonna carry on til she be up the spout! Dem don't deserve bein' shamed by we!" Ross tried again with an ingratiating look that she still saw as dismissive of her concerns. "Prudie..." She continued. "If’n ee get 'er in the family way wi' no ring, it won't just be down to ee!" She pointed between herself and Jud who looked on at this exchange with growing concern. 'Ross d'know betterer than tha!', thought Jud. Prudie continued, indignant. "We'd look a right pair o' villains if Dem be livin' 'ere all this time an' end up in trouble! 'Alf them gossips be thinkin' ee bin carryin' on wi' 'er all this time, under our noses like we be blind! Or worse, tha we don't care a curse for the gurl!" Ross closed his eyes and tried again. "Prudie..." "Wha?" she barked, "What ee 'ave to say fer yerself?! I never thought I'd see the day when..." Ross was sharp with her now. If she finished the rest of that sentence as he feared-'when you would act like your father'-he'd not keep his temper and Prudie was only trying to help.
"PRUDIE!"
The kitchen was silent enough now that they could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock and Garrick barking, outside, as he played with Dem, like any other time over these last four years. Ross ducked his chin and smiled. Dem was so young when he brought her here and he had no earthly clue it would come to this when he did, but Ross knew his responsibility to her. He softened his voice as he reached across the table and took Prudie's hand in his. Her eyes went wide at this gesture as did Jud's. Ross looked from one to the other. They had looked after him all his life as each of his family members disappeared, one by one. He wanted them to know, for all his drugs taking and waywardness in his life, the Paynters had raised him right, somehow. Ross looked at Prudie with affection. "I have not bought Dem her ring, but I did ask her to marry me and she agreed."

III. One Rainy Wish

She had kissed his scar, and Ross flushed at the pleasure of the intimacy of it. He made a careful study of all the colors in her eyes, and Dem's heart swelled as she watched his interest. They lay, near motionless, in Ross' bed as the rain pattered against the windows on this, the third night she spent in Ross' bed after their first night, in the Long Field. Dem had dared and Ross had taken her up on it. She was his woman... When he first made love to her, out of doors, in the tall grass, Ross whispered her name like a chant or a prayer. There was a new sound in his voice that she recognized as his love for her, his need of her, and she wondered if the pleasure of it might kill her, but what a wonderful way to go...The newness of it gave way to the anticipation of knowing. Knowing what he felt like, knowing what he tasted like, knowing that he would groan with pleasure or laugh as they played their lover's games. She was learning, not unlike her apprenticeship with the guitar, all the ways they could give each other pleasure and in this quiet moment they had achieved a certain equality. He was her man. "Folk won't understand, I don't rightly understand..." she said, drowsily. "What?" Ross asked as he shifted a little. The warmth between them threw a delicious scent forward that they recognized as their combined love for each other. They breathed it in like a restorative. "How it came to happen. This. We..." he rested his palm on her hip and chuckled. "You aren't meant to understand, you're meant to accept it as a fact of life." He smiled and lay on his back. Dem giggled and lay facing him, lay against his chest and draped a lazy leg over his thigh. He brought his arms around her and they enjoyed the closeness of the embrace. Ross sighed, in contentment and consternation. They'd been a tearaway and a slag, as far as many in the community chose to see them, for four years and now they'd gone and proved all those whispering shrews right...Ross Poldark was fucking his ward...That's all people would chose to see. They thought it of them anyway, even as they lived in innocence for four years...they'd grown up together for four years... They'd grown, one into the other, for four years. Dem grew up free of her father's abuse and Ross turned his back on his dependence on heroin. They had the sort of friendship that could only turn towards love, Ross supposed. They had saved each other and that was a powerful bond...Those around here thought Ross was no better than he ought to be, for he was Joshua Poldark's son. Papa was as bad behaved with women as the gossips said. Ross knew that and it was his cross to bear around here...But Joshua never brought women to Nampara. He chased after them away from his hearth. This bed had only been Grace's bed and Papa slept in it alone after her death. It was enshrined as the the bed of his dearest love, his late wife and Joshua would not besmirch it by having someone else in it. For all his antics, he remained true to Grace in that regard...Ross lazily stroked Dem's back and smiled as she purred a little. This was Dem's bed now..."Dem?" She lifted her chin and smiled. "Yes?' He smiled into her eyes. "Demelza Carne?" he asked. Dem's eyebrows raised. Ross looked upon her with warm, loving eyes. "Demelza Carne, will you marry me?" She looked like a startled fawn. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened, briefly. A smile blossomed between them. She blinked and closed her mouth. She smiled and hid her face against his chest. 'Ross wants to wed me!' she thought. She held that thought, clutched at it, greedily in some ways. That Ross loved her enough to want to marry her made every slight and insult she bore over the last four years nullified. She was never a slut. She was never a slag, but she shouldered those insults because Ross was her friend and she knew that people had small minds. Every person in this crazy, gossipy place would know that she was Ross' wife, his proper wife and it charmed her. She smiled at him and Ross felt her love as if the sun had chosen to shine on him alone. He caught his breath in the strength of it. "Ais, Ross," she whispered. "I will marry you, Ross Poldark!"
And she kissed her love, and he kissed his.

Chapter Text

There were days when the water churned. Vicious, punishing waves that could knock a person over. But there were also soft summer days when the waters were calm and deep blue, warmed and glittered by the sun. This August day was such a one. Ross and Dem, bearing large towels and Julia's carry cot, brought their daughter to an outcropping of rock that gave strong shade and spent the morning enjoying the weather, the water and each other's company. Dem wore a red bikini under a linen peasant blouse with a wide straw hat. Ross wore a white tee shirt and blue swim trunks with two bands of white trim sewn down each side. They both wore decrepit plimsolls-"beach only" footwear with no laces in them- and Julia was just in a diaper, in a blue flowered cover and a little white sunbonnet made of eyelet trimmed cotton.
They set the carry cot in the shade but lay their towels in the sun. Dem's hat shaded the baby as she nursed her and the warmth of the day felt lovely. Ross took off his shirt, made his way down the rocks and small cliffs and jumped into the water. Dem watched him swimming as Julia drank her fill. If Julia slept, Dem would wet her feet a bit. She was not ready to swim as of yet. If she remained awake, they would take turns. Ross dove under the water and popped back up, shaking his hair about. He looked to Dem who waved to him with Julia in the crook of her arm. He grinned and disappeared under the water again. Dem laughed. Ross had grown up like a merman. Nampara Cove had been private, Poldark land for centuries and he grew up with a marvelous freedom within it. Stretches of unspoiled, beautiful coast land, right outside his back door, so to speak. Joshua was the second son of the Poldark clan and did not have the monetary advantages of his brother, Charles, but he, as Ross after him, rebuffed and ignored all offers-high value offers-to purchase the land. Nampara's beach was beyond price. It was as much of a family legacy as Joshua's side was allowed. They kept possession of it and were grateful for it.
Julia's mouth popped off in the abrupt release of a snoring baby. She put her in the cot, nestled safe at the foot of the rock and took off her bikini top that drooped around her waist. She'd not bother with it. That was another legacy of having such a wide buffer between themselves and the outside world. Ross and Dem had no qualms, at all, wandering about half dressed, and losing articles of clothing to the point of being entirely nude, sometimes, out of doors. Dem climbed down, into the little pool of the sea, a small whorl of the sea that made for a pretty swimming hole. She sat on a wide, flat rock and let her feet dangle in the water. Ross had swum further out but he saw her and headed back. He looked up at her as he climbed halfway out. She sat, radiant, in a straw hat, smiling down at him, her belly bearing a slight trace of Julia's former home over the bikini bottoms and her breasts, gloriously plump from nursing the baby and looking quite enticing all round.
"You look like a mermaid, sitting up there!" smiled Ross, shaking water from his hair and looking up at her adoringly. Dem laughed. "I was waiting on one of those mermen to come along and give me a kiss!" He came to sit next to her, bringing a fair bit of water with him that spread on the rock as he sat. "I should get my dibs in, then," said Ross, "I wouldn't want some merman to come and lure you away!" She held her hat to her head with one hand and smiled into Ross' kiss. It tasted of the sea, accompanied by the gentle thwack of wet strands of his hair, on her forehead and cheeks, as he leaned in. The sun sparkled on the water and warmed the rock, for all it was wetted, the soft press of his nose against hers brought her a shiver of happiness as they deepened the kiss. She closed her eyes and reciprocated. They blinked themselves apart and smiled. "I kiss at least as well as a merman!" Ross said with a proud toss of his hair. "Ais." she said.

He helped her up and they checked on Julia, still shaded, still sleeping. They brought their towels, warmed from the sun, closer to her, in the shade and lay together, content. Ross lay on his back and watched the wisps of clouds dancing across the morning sky. Dem lay near, her breathing steady and soft as she dozed and Julia napped, as he had done, as his brother, Claude, had done and the passel of siblings Ross intended for Julia would do-safe in the lee of the cliff-and they would all grow to claim their birthright, running, pell-mell, to enjoy the sea out the back door of Nampara. Ross found that helping to care for a newborn was as tough as an army boot camp but it was worth it. Little enough effort to have what he craved. He and Dem would build the sort of family they had both been denied. As the clouds drifted lazily past in the sky, Ross daydreamed of picnics and Christmas, grand summer parties, outside in the warmth of the sun and, later, in the summer dusk, with sing songs round the bonfire and their kids running about, well loved, well fed and happy in their play over the land where he and Dem had first made love. A little army of Nampara Poldarks over which he would dote and smile over them all like a proper Papa, with Dem, serene and wonderful, by his side...

They woke to Julia's wail of protest from the cot. Their feet were now in sun. Julia remained in shade but there was less of it as the sun changed position in the sky. The sand had dried upon their feet and roughened the touch of their legs and toes as they woke, drowsy shifts of their legs and feet, tangled together as they woke, in a way that was not unpleasant. Ross pulled his shirt back on and lifted Julia up, only to receive a huge, warmed streak of spit up milk down his front. "Ugh!" he chuckled, "Julia! That's a fine how do you do!" Dem laughed as she got her blouse back on and set the cot over her arm like a basket, the top of her swimsuit dangling from her wrist. She gathered their towels and they scrunched their feet back into their shoes. Ross ferried Julia against him, as he was already milky, and cooed a steady stream of encouraging patter as she groused and fussed in his arms. Dem laid the towels over the stone wall to dry and be dealt with later. They kicked off the plimsolls, batted their feet clean on the grass as best they could, and Dem took Julia to tend and tidy her upstairs. Ross went into the parlor, briefly, to leave the carry cot there. He stood and looked down himself. He could still feel the wet mark of milk on his shirt, now cold. He smirked and made to take his shirt off, had it half off, when he heard an enraptured shriek, in triplicate. Ross struggled his head back into the shirt as he brought his arms back down. He blinked in surprise at three young girls. The one at the center with her nose pressed to the glass, stock still, with her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Her companions on either side of her hopping up and down in excitement. He looked at them, dumbfounded, as an older woman's voice was heard. "PORSCHEHELENAALICE! Get away from tha winda! Hie to tha door! Skulkin' about like a buncha peepers!" The three faces vanished so quickly, Ross might have dreamt them if the bell had not rung. Ross went into the hall and opened the door. There standing and fidgeting in their places were three girls- two of them in matching blue dresses with a short, pleated skirt, the girl in the center in a white tee shirt with fine pink and green stripes on it and a green skirt- all white knee socks and buckle shoes, clutching Resurgam albums in their arms the way a child might hold a doll, staring up adoringly at him. "Hello..." said Ross, wondering if seeing, and smelling, him covered in sand and spit up might cool their ardor. It did not. The woman, middle aged, in a plain, brown, housedress, with an abstract pattern, a bit like radio wave diagrams on it, said,
"Beggin' yer pardon, sur. These gurls was hoping you'd sign their platters." She looked down over them all. "Where's yer manners?!"
To a girl, they all said, "Hello, Mr. Poldark!"
Ross smiled as the woman harrumphed. Clearly she had been dragged into this escapade by her charges. The least he could do is offer her tea...
"Good day, ladies," Ross smiled. "I'd be happy to but, as you can see, my daughter has marked me. If you wouldn't mind waiting in the parlor, I'll be with you directly." The girls squealed with delight and piled into the hall. He installed them on the right hand pew and bade their minder to sit on the sofa facing the hearth. "I'll be back in a moment..." As he went into the hall he could hear the woman hiss, "DO NA TOUCH NOTHIN'" Ross bit down on a laugh as he went upstairs. He found Dem tickling Julia as she lay on their bed in a pink cotton frock and matching bloomers. Ross looked askance at this. "I pray she has no more milk in her with you tickling her like that!" Julia, hiccuping a husky little laugh, hearing his voice, turned to smile at him, like a sunflower tracking the sun and Ross paused for a moment to smile back. "We have visitors..." Ross spoke to Dem as he crinkled his eyes at Julia. "Visitors?" Dem's eyebrows raised. Ross chuckled. "Yes. Three little girls, who don't seem to be local have cajoled their nursemaid into bringing them here to get their albums signed!" Dem laughed as Ross continued. "If you keep them occupied, I can make tea. I need to get cleaned up. I feel like I've been dragged through a hedge!" Dem nodded and took Julia to meet Ross young fans.

She turned into the parlor to see Garrick in his glory. Laying on his back with his right foot pitched up in the air, waggling and shivering with delight as all three girls scratched his belly by the hearth.
"I see you've made friends with Garrick!" They all gasped. "It's Dem!" they oohed and aahhed and looked towards her wide eyed and awed as their minder rolled her eyes. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am," she began as she laid eyes on Julia and smiled ear to ear. "My word! Ain't she a sweetie?!" Dem smiled. "Thank you, This is our daughter, Julia." The girls came over all faint, looking up from the floor at Ross' wife -she looked just like her picture! -and their little baby... "Gurls!" They straightened up. "Stop yer moonin' and say how d'do, proper!" They did so. "Hello, Mrs. Poldark!" Dem smiled. This nurse and Prudie would get on like a house on fire, she thought. "Hello, girls. We were on the beach. Ross will be with us soon. Will you stay to tea, Mrs...?" "Atkins, ma'am. Aye, that would be grand, if it ain't too much trouble to ya." Dem sat with Mrs. Atkins and not too much time passed before Ross returned, restored to quick cleanliness and bearing a tray with the larger teapot and a packet of chocolate digestives. He placed it on the table, took Julia from Dem and switched places. Ross sat, now back to form in jeans and a clean shirt with his boots on. Dem went to get the cups and saucers. Ross Poldark sat next to Agnes with his baby in the crook of his arm while they played with his dog and Dem got the cups in. They would be queens of their school for a month, at least! Ross and Julia smiled, benevolently, at their guests who regaled them with the story of how they got here. Sisters, Porsche and Helena and Mrs. Atkins' daughter, Alice, had been waylaid in boring Cornwall for most of the summer as their father researched the differences in Cornish regional accents compared to other, West Country areas. A clerk at the record store, in Truro, mentioned that the Poldarks lived near Sawle On Grambler. After some argument, (for the girls swore blind that the Poldarks lived in Devon,) they bought albums in the shop and persuaded Agnes to drive all the way out here to get them autographed. Ross smiled at Mrs. Atkins, and she smiled back. She had been half afraid they'd stumble into a den of iniquity- all drugs and loose women, or a house full of kooks and hippies. The Poldarks were not proper, in that the fella had hair like a woman and looked as if someone had taken a meat hook to his face, but they were proper gentry for all their odd looks, polite as you like. Their babby was a darling. They were calm and friendly and gave the girls no reason to think they were being a nuisance.

Dem returned and bade them to have tea. Mrs. Atkins herded them all into the hall bathroom to wash their hands as Ross and Dem exchanged a look of mirth. The girls were the youngest fans Ross had ever seen. They couldn't be more than twelve. Their wedding picture had plunked both of them into the teen magazines so there was a second layer of interest that differed from the older crowd Ross played to. The clubs and venues Resurgam played would never allow kids that age anywhere near. Julia blinked happily at the assembled guests from her mother's arms as Ross poured tea and they enjoyed it with two biscuits apiece.
Tea drunk and records signed, they thanked Ross, waved goodbye to Julia, still good natured, in his arms and followed Mrs. Atkins and Dem to the front door. They were to go home to London in two days and managed to strike gold in an adventure to brag about once school resumed. As they walked to the car, Alice ran back to the front door. "Will you sign my record too?" Blinking up at Dem. Dem laughed. "I'm not part of the band!" she protested. Alice looked up at her, starry eyed. "No, but yer smashin'!" Dem smiled and signed the record. "Alice!" The girl gave a little hop from foot to foot. "Comin'!" Dem handed back the album. Alice turned to rush back to the others as Dem called after her, "How old are you?" Alice squeaked over her shoulder. "Ten!" And with that, she disappeared into the car and the autograph hunters left Nampara.

Dem went back to the parlor. Ross laid Julia on her back, on the sofa, playing with her fingers and toes as he murmured over her,
"Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross
To see a fine lady upon a white horse
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
She shall have music where ever she goes!"
"Do you have bells on your toes, Julia...?" Ross made a careful examination of her feet as he gave each one a little peck of a kiss. He looked up at Dem as she came near and Julia brightened to see her as they both leaned over her. It was as if she had suddenly entered a strange tent, two happy faces, floating over her, and a curtain of hair on either side of her. "How is my darling?" asked Dem. "Which one?" joked Ross. He was rewarded with a wry smile as Dem sat up and said, "Those girls were ten!" Ross gave a chuckle. "I almost wished Prudie had been here today. Mrs. Atkins seemed quite like Prudie..."
They sat in front of the house for a time. Ross and Dem ate simply on Saturdays, preferring to push the boat out for Sunday lunch, rather than gorge both weekend days. Julia dozed again and they had thinly sliced pork cutlets, warmed in gravy with mashed potatoes and mushrooms fried in butter with parsley crumbled over them. There was cake left from the week, but they were content to eat some apples out of hand and, later, more digestives and tea. They risked a bath-Julia often seemed to have a homing device that woke her the minute Dem stepped into the tub. Julia remained asleep and they sat quiet in the tub for a time. Resurgam would tour within the U.K., so they relished these quiet days, quiet times, stored them up to keep hold of when they were apart. The surprise of the autograph hunters aside, this day held the ordinary, commonplace pleasures they'd come to enjoy and the enjoyment that comes from having not very much to do, but have your favorite people about you as the days drift by.

When term time resumed in the autumn, Porsche, Helena and Alice had mixed success with the tale of their Nampara adventure. They had their albums for proof and taking tea with the Poldarks seemed reasonable. Their insistence that they saw Ross Poldark taking his shirt off was rejected, out of hand, as a fib of the highest order. Clearly, that could not have happened...

And, as it happens, spare a thought for Helena. Unbeknownst to Helena, her daughter has listed her mother's first pressing, EMI, signed copy of Resurgam's second album, on Discogs, for forty pounds, under valuing it by, at least, thirty pounds.

Alice, who takes care to store her vinyl records in individual, protective plastic sleeves, safe from the effects of heat, sunlight and her own children, could realize as much as two hundred pounds for her album with Ross and Dem's signatures on it, far more if it fell into a bidding war. She wouldn't ever sell it, though. Alice still tells the story of getting it signed. It was a magical day...

Chapter Text

The days were becoming unmoored from time. Ross and Dem lazed about in bed until two or three in the afternoon, or the reverse. They would retire to bed at three in the afternoon. They had their supper scandalously late, played guitar, bathed in the sea, and took walks be it night or day, these pleasantries interspersed with lovemaking, until they slept again, late in the night. It was Saturday and the house was silent. Ross awoke slowly. First, a hand ghosted his thigh and that gained his notice as he dozed. Second, a shiver of enjoyment as Dem's leg slid across his shin and his thigh, held there briefly before she captured him altogether with her leg. That was the sort of inducement that woke him up properly. "What time is it?" he yawned. "Ten!" said Dem, brightly. "Night or day?" teased Ross. Clearly it was morning. A pinch. A naughty sort of a pinch. Ross grinned. Dem was slowly becoming more bold as they maneuvered their lover's dance. It amused and aroused him in equal measure. "If you keep on like that, we won't have breakfast..."murmured Ross. "We could call it tea!" she teased. "Hmmuph..."Ross turned to face Dem and kissed her. There was a laziness between them rather than the need to sate lust. They had the soft, sleepy haze of the newlywed-sated yet needy too. Dem smiled. Ross smiled. What happened next was not romantic. "We should have splits for tea." murmured Ross as he curled into his pillow. He had, as one might imagine, exerted himself strenuously since their return to Nampara. In the time it took to snuggle closer to his pillow, Dem's brain went through a series of thought and calculation that would shame a military computer. Ross had spoken. As night follows day, there must be splits for tea...Prudie had left them clotted cream, but the Paynters were away. They had left the Poldarks to their honeymoon and would not return for a week. Thus, it fell to Dem to bake splits. She wrinkled her nose. She did not want to skivvy today. She did want a cream tea, though. There was a particularly nice crust on Prudie's cream -crystalline, pale, butter yellow, like the inside of a geode. She looked at Ross. A curl of his hair draped across his face. There was something a little angelic in his face's repose. Ross was falling back into the untroubled, contented sleep of someone who never had to play the kitchen maid. Why should he? He had Prudie and a dutiful wife. On the other hand, Dem was now in possession of a dutiful husband... She poked his arm with her finger and he smiled, eyes still closed. "Really?! You're making me splits?!" she said. Ross opened one eye, in reproach of her. This was enough like Garrick's behavior to make Dem laugh. "Me?!" He sounded offended and knit his brows. "Haven't I pleased you enough to make me splits?" Dem smiled, but she also knit her brows. "Haven't I pleased YOU enough to make ME splits?" Ross pursed his lips. He didn't laugh but he was amused. Dem was trying to rearrange the natural order of things. "I've never made them. Prudie's always done it before you came along..." Dem laughed and mimicked Prudie's voice to a disconcerting degree. "Ee be spoiled, Ross Vennor Poldark!" Ross ducked his head, blinked innocently at Dem, "Yes. Guilty as charged..." They shared an indulgent smile before Dem grinned a wicked grin. "You should make me splits!" she said. "I don't know how!" protested Ross, a little alarmed that batting his eyelashes didn't work. She laughed. "Then ee can read a recipe, ye daft article!" Ross looked horrified. Not only had Dem demanded he bake for their tea, her mimicry of Prudie was uncanny. They burst into laughter. Ross rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine! But don't complain if they end up hard as rocks or taste like dust!" Dem gave him a kiss on the nose. "There's nothing to it, Ross! I'm sure they'll be lovely!" Ross put the covers over his head in protest. She sighed and sat up, leaning back against the headboard. He peeked out, warily, from a teeny edge of the sheet. Dem had her nose upturned and her arms crossed. "Make me splits, my good man! I expect a fitty tea!" Ross uncovered his face and grinned. He wasn't going to get out of this. "Yes, madame." he smirked. They got dressed. Dem followed Ross downstairs to watch his first foray into baking. She watched him, admiring the view for he wore a plain tee shirt, once black but laundered enough to be grey and old jeans that had been cut down to shorts of a scandalous length that showed his legs to good effect. She went to the parlor to retrieve her new guitar and settled across the kitchen table to watch the proceedings.

"What do they mean, bloodheat?" Ross felt he was consulting some sort of spellbook rather than a cookery book. That sounded vaguely sinister.

"It means the milk should be warm, like your hand," smiled Dem. "If the milk is too hot, it will kill the yeast and they won't rise." she explained.

Her feet were propped up on the chair in front of her with her arm resting on top of the guitar on her lap, seated across from him. He tickled her foot, as it was near to him. She giggled and recoiled sharply, happily, but spoke in a stern voice,

"That's not sanitary!"

Ross rolled his eyes and went to wash his hands at the sink. She giggled again, amused to watch his obedience as he, gamely, set out to make their tea bread. He turned to her as he dried his hands.

"You know you sound like a witch!"

"What?!" Dem had no idea what Ross meant. Ross spoke as if he was scandalized.

"Cackling at me! Talking of 'bloodheat' and killing the yeast! You sound like a witch casting spells on people!"

Dem, not one to resist a fancy these days, started playing 'I Put A Spell On You' on her wedding present, a twelve string Gibson guitar with mother of pearl flowers on the fretboard. She smiled. She looked pretty with her hair about her shoulders and a light blue tee shirt on. She wore cut offs too. They only had themselves to please.

"Hurry!" she smiled. "We'll not have them for tea if you don't get started!" Ross gave her a sour look that made her giggle again.

"Make my splits and be quick about it!" No one would mistake the Hempel air of privilege in her voice as she chastised her servant. Ross smirked.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am. I will try to..." here Ross took a sardonic pause and gave her a wonky looking curtsy before returning to the table. "...ma'am." Dem laughed again and Ross rolled his eyes. He thought, 'Dem and Prudie make these all the time, there's nothing to it...'

In theory, Ross was correct. Splits were an uncomplicated, yeasted roll to split in half and fill with jam and cream. Nampara was not a decadent place for all the gossip over them. They were often content with bought biscuits and homemade fruit buns for their tea. Every once and a while, though, they would have a bit of a gorge on a proper cream tea. Usually this was because Ross deployed his blinking eyes in the way that failed him spectacularly this day. Ross had certainly eaten enough splits to know what the end result should be. 'child's play...' he told himself. Once Ross realized Dem really was going to leave him to his own devices, he got to grips with things. Dem followed him with her eyes in merry humor as she watched him move about in the slow dance of a man who knew the place like the back of his hand but not as a baker at all. He found the ingredients and followed the recipe as if any deviation or false move would result in a chaotic gelignite explosion.

"This is the right flour?" he asked, holding aloft a bag of strong flour.

"Yes, Ross."

"What do they mean a 'pinch'? How much salt is a pinch?"

"Ross?" said Dem, quietly. He looked at her.

"Put your hand inside the salt pig," Ross pursed his lips and looked bashful as he did what he was told. Dem strummed some chords as she smiled.

"Take a pinch of salt." He did so.

"Ross?" Dem grinned with her eyes crinkled.

"Yes, Dem." sighed Ross.

"There's your pinch of salt!" And she played 'Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits' for good measure.

"I just want them to be right!" said Ross, a little defensive as he dropped the pinch of salt into the bowl and started to wield a wooden spoon to mix everything together.

"Fitty!" crowed Demelza, happy to be able to 'correct' him. Ross glowered at this and her laughter when he overshot the bowl as he mixed and got flour on his shorts. He stopped stirring, and stared her down across the table. His eyes were stern but a smile threatened as he said, tersely,

"I'm going to spank you!"

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Promise?" Asked Dem, blinking innocently.

"For certain sure..." smiled Ross as he resumed mixing the dough.

The dough was prepared. Dem hesitated to correct Ross. It looked too moist. She would not step in now once she had insisted he do it himself. Kneading became an unfortunate display. It clung to his fingers in raggy, wet clumps that mushed about the table. Ross noticed that Dem had stopped playing, watching the dough with her mouth bitten down.

"Go on," said Ross as he struggled with the dough, "You know you want to..." She smiled, kindly.

"More flour, keeps it from sticking..."

Ross, who was prideful, resisted asking for help, had to admit it really did not look like the smooth, springy dough Prudie and Dem could both make blindfolded.

"Dem?" She smiled over her twelve string.

"Yes, Ross?"

Ross was tempted to roll his eyes but he knew Dem would punish him by leaving him to his fate if he did.

"Will you please help me with this dough?"

Her smile widened and she set the guitar across the seats of two chairs.

"Yes, Ross."

She washed her hands and came to his side of the table. Gently, with the back edge of a butter knife, she scraped what dough she could off of Ross fingers and hands. "Wash your hands and then you can knead this. It just needs more flour to correct it." "Yes, M'lady." smiled Ross. There was thankful admiration rather than sarcasm in his voice. Ross watched, perplexed and amazed as Dem sprinkled over more flour and used the butter knife to scrape up the dough, sticky and clingy-making a mess of the table. She scraped it over itself, like a folded piece of paper and then, with floured hands, flopped the whole mass of it over in a coating of flour and began to knead it into a proper looking dough. "You weren't far off, Ross! It's quite good for a first try!" Ross could not help feeling an absurd sort of pride over this comment. Then he became bashful again, "It hasn't been baked yet..." Dem chuckled, smiled at Ross, warmly. "Come knead it. It's not difficult..." Ross did as he was told. Stilted at first, a bit timid, Ross soon gained confidence as Dem washed her hands and resumed playing her twelve string.

"Does it pass muster?' asked Ross. They both admired the smooth ball of dough on the table.

"I should say so! It can rise now." said Demelza.

Having given it a warm, loving home in the crockery bowl sprigged with flowers on one side (A bowl that Ross had seen from every angle of his height, as he grew. Tall enough to just peer over the table and see the painted flowers close up, to now as a grown adult who, proudly, had cause to use it himself) With great ceremony, Ross draped a damp tea towel over it. "Now what?" asked Ross. "We wait, they can't be made into rolls just yet..." Ross stood a little straighter as he watched Dem smirk at him. They looked at each other as she played John Dowland's Lachimae, a 17th century piece that vexed Dem for years. She played it now, eyes lit with mischief as she spared the briefest of looks to her fingering, even daring to smile into his eyes while playing it, faultless and in correct time-the pausing within the song had been a difficult challenge to her for years- as he grew ever more amused. Ross' mouth twisted with the humor of someone who knew he'd been bested. Standing in a halo of flour, his own hand prints on his tee shirt, sprayed across his shorts from flinging it on himself while stirring, smudged on his forehead and the forelock of his hair (though he'd not see that until he looked in a mirror) Dem was showing off and teasing him. She was as good a guitarist as he was but he struggled to bake their bread. A smile crept upon his face. One Dem could recognize.

"I. Am. Going. To. Spank. You." he said, slowly, evenly and with warmth in his voice. Ross laughed as Dem jutted her chin and sassed him back.

"I should hope so! The dough won't be ready for an hour..."

Dough risen, and Ross' promise kept, they returned to the kitchen. Dem cut the dough into twelve pieces. Ross watched carefully, tried to mimic Dem's technique, but his rolls were not as smooth as hers. He continued trying to make his six lumps of dough look like Dem's. "This is like Blue Peter!" groused Ross. Dem smiled and placed a perfectly shaped roll, smooth and rounded like a sea weathered pebble, on the palm of her hand. With the over bright cheerfulness of a children's television presenter she said, "Here's one I made earlier!" Ross found this so funny his laugh was silent. He bent double with the quiet, staccato hiccup of someone who might fall on the floor from laughing. With a great deal of mirth, they set their rolls to rise on the baking tray. Since they had to rise a second, shorter time, they walked with Garrick. They were content. Garrick ran ahead to chase rabbits and they walked, hand in hand, through the quiet, August afternoon.

Back in the kitchen, Dem applauded Ross' successful batch of splits. Ross placed the baking tray in the oven and resisted the neophyte temptation to keep opening the oven door to peek at them. They baked beautifully. "You made my splits!" smiled Dem. "Fitty splits!" countered Ross. "Ahh! But they haven't been tested yet!" Dem broke a piece of a split that she could tell from its eccentric appearance was one of Ross' and fed it, plain, to Garrick. Ross laughed as the dog snaffled it down happily. "Garrick has spoken! The splits be fitty!" He lifted his chin at his accomplishment.

Ross returned to his more ordinary chore-making the tea. This he could do blindfolded for he had been pressed into service by Prudie, as her second in command, years earlier. He measured out the tea for the smaller pot, having warmed it first with boiling water that was discarded. He brewed the tea with fresh boiled water. He turned, to bring it to the parlor and smiled. While he was making tea, Dem had laid the table with the silverware and china plate that was kept for best. Heavy, old silverware with a floral design on the handles and delicate blue and white floral plates, saucers and cups, a very old set from his mother's side. Two jars of jam, strawberry and raspberry, waited with spoons at the ready and a cut glass bowl of Prudie's clotted cream-bone white in some places, a shimmered, pale yellow crust in others-sparkled next to a colorful flowered plate that held his five remaining splits.

With great ceremony, they split and dressed their tea bread with jam and a generous dollop of cream. The test. Ross started laughing, a bemused laugh of triumph. They looked a bit ropy, but they tasted perfect. They smiled at each other. Ross had baked his own cream tea.

"They're perfect, Ross! Thank you!" said Dem.

"You're welcome." Ross couldn't help flushing under such praise. To mask it, he topped off her cup. Dem raised her cup in tribute, and took a satisfied sip. She set it down and smiled, warmly. "You know, Ross, I think you've brewed more tea for me than I've ever made for you..." Ross smiled as he topped off his own cup and looked proudly at the table, spread with a proper cream tea, for two, he had magicked with his own hands, with assistance, of course...

"Well," he smiled as he brought his cup to his lips." I have to do something to earn my keep around here."

Chapter Text

Prudie had mounted the stairs. Her footfall creaked at the landing, paused and then resumed as she walked back down, decending the stairs with her retort to Jud, unintelligible but clearly a wry report as to their whereabouts. Still abed... Dem watched the edge of Ross' smile widen in profile as her head lay near his pillow. Prudie said something to Jud as she went back downstairs. Dem giggled as she turned more solidly towards him. Ross grinned as he resettled his arm around her and nestled his face near her shoulder. They were drowsy and contented and were pleased to have the Paynters forbearance in the recent changes within their relationship. The Paynters 'left them to it'. No pointed rebuke to rise and shine or remind them it was time for breakfast. No tsk tsking over the reason for their tardiness either. For all both Jud and Prudie bore the gossip that hovered around their Nampara employer, never dignifying the tattle, the ease with which they accepted Demelza's change in status had been cheering. Both Ross and Dem had been spooked by Elizabeth appearing that first morning and had felt the constraint of not just her disapproval but the weight of all the reasons it took such strength on both Ross and Dem's part to press past the taboo the entire community hindered them with. How could he dare? How could she dare? How could you admit that you did want the person everyone swore was so sinful? How could they hold that joy when the light of the morning showed them to be literally stained by the association, skewered by Elizabeth's cold eyed distaste over them? They stood frozen in a surprise that must have looked comic as Ross sought to kiss Dem's neck after a merry chase indoors and Dem dropped the flowers she'd picked, both of them clutching their Gibsons by their necks, Ross' eyebrows raised as his lips met Dem's neck and his eyes met Liza's as she took the information in. Liza stared at their feet, stared at the wildflowers littering the carpet, their guitars, Dem's knees... They could read the thought upon her face in that moment, Oh, God, so there is something between them... Liza looked on in shock, parsing the placement of the soiled marks on Ross' forearms, on Dem's knees; they could see the different configurations bloom in her mind's eye and a look of horror at it, that Ross had mounted his little school girl, braced above her on his elbows at the grass; that Dem knelt over Ross like a strumpet, the pair of them scrabbling about, outside in the dirt, little better than animals... Elizabeth had brought them discomfort but Jud in his teasing criticism, Prudie in her broad, laughing triumph -she boasted that she had known it would occur, crowed that Spring had entered Ross and Dem's blood 'sure as eggs is eggs', that had countered those few bad moments when Elizabeth called. They set them aside and were almost forgotten and altogether discarded. Once they received the Paynters' pronouncement over them Ross and Dem drew a bath to remove evidence of their night's activities, that of the morning too. After a sincere attempt to wash themselves in an honest efficiency she leaned her head back against his shoulder and he kissed her until the room went dark before her eyes. When she opened them once more what was lust in his vision was her, what was lust in her sight reared itself in a sudden possession. Ross. "Turn to me," said Ross in an urgent command. Water sloshed about as they wrestled themselves into odd rearrangements, of knees, a flash of quick moving foot, of grasping hands, at the sides of the tub, upon each other, a flat palm for balance, a swift claim of her hips turning desire into a working partnership. She turned to face him in a cramped configuration that placed her upon Ross' lap as he lay back at the edge of the tub to allow her knees more room and for better purchase in his movements. "Aah!" He was staring at Dem as he thrust himself into her. A inhalation in tandem. Ross' eyes widening in concern, in an all body delight. She cried out, tight against him in an instant, deep within her. Tight around him. Wet around him. It thrilled him, it turned him on. But she was young and this was new, was she O.K? Was it too much? An inhalation in tandem. He watched Dem's features freeze upon her sudden moan and then relax, she drew a breath in surprise, in pleasure too. Dem shuddered briefly as she exclaimed at his entry in spite of herself, opened her eyes and watched him, his lips parted, half arrogant, half wonderstruck. Ross looked as if he could not believe his luck and had no doubt at all over it simultaneously, a strange sensation. His look of capture, of knowing he had her, thrilled Dem. The look of disbelief, of awe in his face made her smile. She did this. She had made the decision. She had conjured the look of utter surprise and happiness in Ross' face. The stunned look of ecstasy in him too. She felt him, stared at him as he impaled her with insistant force, strong and hard. An exhalation in tandem. He watched Dem's features freeze upon her sudden moan and then relax, she drew a breath in surprise, in pleasure too. She saw Ross worry for her even he was slack jawed from the sensation, trying to care for her and be subsumed by her at the same time. It had been a shock in a way, the feeling, so immediate and thick, the quickness in his movement of her, but she bore it. He was strong but she was no less. She felt the renewed shiver of new reconfiguring of her body, the gathering ease of accepting his body by steady degrees; no more the sharp hitch of pain or ragged pull of a widening flesh that ripped apart small fissures in the resistance of the first instance. She met that crucible in that first night, felt that pain, bled that blood, passed the test. Now she was molded to fit. She had claimed her man. In the washboard noise of splashing bathwater around them they managed to agree, in a look, in a breath, that Dem was not cowed or hurt by Ross in his claim of her now and their exhale had merged into a kiss. Dem demanded a kiss as she felt herself alight him, his hands closed about her waist as Ross forced her down upon him, feeling the energy and strength continuing to move her up and down against him in a rhythmic insistance as they stared at each other's face. She closed the gap between them and Ross groaned as their lips met and he submitted to her demands, gasping for breath as he met her mouth, as he felt her surround him and seized her hips within his grasp, a featherweight resistance in his hands and yet she was a woman, a woman in his hands working to sate their need. Ross felt the heat of her mouth and a miracle shinning over him, a sexual goddess springing forth to life from a virgin forehead. Dem was untutored, it was all new, but she was bringing herself in concert with Ross in his shows of prowess and even leaping over them in her zeal to allow herself the right to be a lover. To be his lover. She kissed him and the force of it startled him. He met her in her lust as he felt his cock poke forward into her, wet from the bath, wet from Dem -feeling viscous and slick against him in a way water did not; the desperate friction Ross contrived from pumping her body up and down in his hands, fighting to maintain his dominance because she was independent and excited -not passive, wanting what she wanted, pleasured and enjoying herself, meeting him steel on steel. Ross moaned relief as her arms wrapped around him, round his shoulders. Relief because he had her seal of approval in his fervent attentions and Dem covered him in attention of her own. He had fear that he was trampling upon something good, not wanting to take advantage of a girl he was entrusted to care for, a girl everyone accused him of using in this way for why should a son of Joshua Poldark be any better than he ought to be? Dem wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was a relief to him because he had tried with all his might not to do this. Ross had tried not to see what was covetable and alluring in Dem, to deny it, to ignore it. He tried to walk a straight path even as he caught himself watching the sway in her walk, trying to look her in the face without staring at her eyes. Do you want to play...? Trying to stop the bad thoughts, trying to remain just her friend and guardian, trying to be good. Oh god it's so good... He hung on to her for dear life as her tongue stroked his and he gasped from the pleasure of it all. Dem giggled as she tipped her head back and allowed herself to be tempest tossed in the bath, pleasured by his mouth at her breast, as he put his mouth upon her, nipped her here and there with his teeth in sharp pin pricks of teasing and his hot breath at her neck and the rollicking movement of her thighs, rising and falling, rising and falling, liquid sounds around them. She leaned forward once more licking his skin, cheeks near, hair damp, tangled breath and kissing, kissing, kissing. Kissing his mouth, his face, his ears, soft noises in his ears, soft noises in hers as he sighed, kissing his neck, bitten on his neck. Ross felt it with a jolt of pain and yelped in a stunned good humour. "Ow! Jesus, Dem! Hahahaha" Dem blinked surprise, startled at his lap and leaned back to look at him full in the face when Ross 'ouched' and swore. Had she hurt him? But he laughed at once and the bright sparkle in his eye as he watched her in this noisy wet silliness made her laugh too. He still had grass in his hair and he could laugh even as she felt his fingers tighten from pleasure around her and they continued this test of wills, this joy. The reality of what they'd unleashed struck them both. They had dared. They knew this joy and release and feral beauty because they dared. They felt shame, briefly, in Elizabeth's visit because her reproachful gaze distorted the act and had introduced false values. A recollection of that night recast from triumphant beauty to holding something distasteful; not Demelza's fault, not his, but arising out of the history of their association. Liza brought all the reasons they shouldn't've dared to the fore. But Ross kicked against it, he prevented Elizabeth from removing the cornflower Dem had tucked behind his ear when Liza plucked other stray burrs and grasses away from his hair. He defended his choice, defended being Dem's chosen and were then given absolution from the two people who knew them best. Jud and Prudie ribbed them and laughed affection over them, Prudie even blessed the situation by insisting Ross' mother would approve of their union. That had freed them both, to kiss, to laugh and to fling water about the bathroom as they fucked each other with a rising humour at the absurdity of everything; of gossipy shrews, and the feline contempt of Elizabeth's attitude, of Papa's reputation dragging at Ross, at the Greek chorus of schoolgirls reminding Dem of what a slut she was as the adults watched on in their silent agreement. No gossip or reproach touched them in this moment. Ross Poldark and Demelza Carne had no reason to be fettered anymore by the community looking so sourly upon them. They beat the gossips at their own game. They made it true. They let it be true, not because she was a low class slag and he a disrespectable tearaway but because they were themselves; two who knew that they wanted each other and finally decided to not let the bastards grind them down. He put one hand at her buttock, one hand at her lower back, to change the tempo. They coasted to long strokes, slowed in the switch of Dem rising and falling under her own power, and Ross laying back like a man beached at shipwreck, eyes closed, half smiling from the siren who captured him and played havoc with his life. He had heard her song and become her slave. They were loud and free, laughing and moaning by turns, collapsed in a panting heap in the cooling water when the deed was done. They exited the bath in a brief parade of nudity, crossing the hall and reaching Ross' bedroom unseen by their servants but definitely heard. They had been comically loud in their congress, in their talk and laughter, left small puddles of water on the bathroom floor and wet footprints the the hall. That evidence wiped up from the bathroom tile later by Prudie in her ordinary housekeeping. They were Ross and Dem and when they emerged later that afternoon, dry and tidy to have their tea, the Paynters made no mention of the caturwaulin' goings on. Prudie and Jud kept their own counsel. As to the noise, well, they were only young... The hall bathroom was set back to rights and wet puddled footprints in the hall evaporated. Both sets of prints led to the master bedroom. One suspected Dem would have little use for the hall bathroom anymore after this day, she would use the master bath now one suspected...

Ross, no stranger to sexual liaisons and Dem, only just entering her sexual awakening, lay in the four poster bed upstairs in what was now their bedroom; not just Ross'. Papa had died and Ross had taken his due, took over main bedroom as Master of Nampara. He had to shake the feeling that he was a squatter in his parents former bedroom at first. It took time but had become his in truth, night after morning, over and over. Dem had his old room from his childhood and now had graduated to the master bedroom too. The carved bedstead had sheltered his parents and the earlier progenitors of this house and now it was their bed. He snuggled closer to Dem and enjoyed the warmth of their bodies under the sheets, last night's entertainments playing in his mind's eye as they woke by sleepy degrees and chuckled over the Paynters' reconnaissance. The morning was cloudy leaving a filmed grey light over everything in the room as the sun lay filtered behind those clouds. Lying abed and remembering how last night was secretive and sweet. Now they were growing into each other's life in a different way. There was no going back for them. There was now no mistaking that they found each other desirable. Events had proved it to be no delusion of a single summer night. They continued the experiment thereafter. There was sex, of course, but also intimacy; the exploration of a new landscape. The lack of experience for Dem, the excess of experience for Ross had met somewhere in the middle. Dem's urge to be bold in his company, to be free to indulge whatever she wanted as she entered a new world of sensations, to explore what Ross had more knowledge of and learn thereby. An urge in Ross hold back, to be gentle with her, careful, the urge to see life anew as Dem did in a way. Their attentions were quiet, reciprocal and allowed for a furtive enjoyment in viewing each others charms akin to playing doctor. Two who knew each other and now had a window into a second, secret world in which innocence and experience became blurred. Ross lay on his back and found enjoyment in allowing himself to be thoroughly examined by a curious Dem in a spirit of collaboration and wonder. She felt hair of every possible texture under her fingers. Ross sported fleecy hair on his arms and legs, his chest bore a bit more springy texture, at his groin still more and jutting at wild angles, permeated with scent, the strangest sort of scent. A musk that layered secret mixtures of intimacy that were now hers to enjoy and crave. Dem ran a gentle forefinger at the crinkled, hairy skin, watched the slow awakening of his erection and the strength her attention engendered in it as Ross watched her watch him. His groans and whispers as he guided her attentions. Skin like velvet and straining towards her. Rose petal soft at her lips and then so stiffened and thick. She knelt over him, tasted him, tried to learn as she went along, tried to please him. He murmured and sighed but when Ross cried out a sound near to agony she knew she'd done right in it. "Dem, oh Dem..." he warned. "I'm so close," A flood of liquid in a strange tinged flavour. It filled her mouth as Ross seemed to sink his limbs into the bed in a weight of fatigue, eyes shut tight and then open, watching her with new eyes. The innocent can be a tyger, the experienced can be as a lamb, panting his gratitude and staring as he watched her swallow his seed in a dazed hypnotism. She crawled nearer and sighed pretty noises of approval as he sat up and stroked her body, rose to lay her on her back, hair glistening red at his pillow, hovering red beauty at her groin. Her skin was blushed in various places, her breasts were beautiful and he took the time to really look at her, much as she had gazed at him. Dem lay still as Ross examined her closely, kissing her here, there. Drawing his fingers upon her, letting his fingertips graze her body and memorize each rib and indentation, each swell and hollow. Nude and poised over her in a quiet study of all Dem's charms and his cock hanging blameless and spent as she watched him, felt him. Fingers soft upon her, moistened in a pulsing stroke as they watched each others eyes. Ross brought his face nearer, still watching her face, bringing pleasure to her from the nearness of his stubbled chin at her thigh, his soft breath at her flesh, the work of his tongue, using the disintegration of her speech as signals aid to his progress, dark eyes watching her. She writhed about and he wrestled her still, held her down, held that pleasure in place awhile with an amused huff and a knowing smile, a glint of light in his dark eyes. His head rose at last and they admired each other. He drew nearer to lay at her side, face to face. The stubble of his chin scratched a rough texture at her own and smelled of Dem at this moment, echoed upon his breath and gentle flavour in her own mouth from kissing her. The secrets that two share.

"Mornin'," said Prudie in a diplomatically neutral tone of voice.

"Good morning, Prudie," said Ross.

"Morning, Prudie," said Dem kneeling to look Garrick full in the face and scratch his neck with affection as he waggled his stubby tail 'Good Morning!'.

They took their seats like any other morning. They ate their breakfast; porridge this day, and drank their tea a bit late compared to other mornings. What was not said, the looks that flit between employer and employee this morning were different. Ross watched Prudie deciding not whether to direct them, but when. Understanding her to want to direct them and biting her tongue. Prudie hesitated to hector them into better circumspection at this early juncture and Ross could see the rumination over this in her. He cleared his throat, as a Master of the House might, one who was having a ball at this moment and didn't want to be responsible just yet. "I'll be in Truro today, do we need anything?" said Ross over a casual sip of tea. Prudie ran water in the sink, her back to him. "Ee might start puttin' the larder on in the Gate'ouse, fer when Ned an' young Enys d'come, drinks for thur fridge an' tha..." Ross and Dem shared a look. Ross' bandmates were returning, to stay the Gatehouse and work. Returning to find a new arrangement between their band leader and his ward had occurred. Dem's smile was bashful. Ross smiled until his eyes scrunched. He grinned at her and she ducked her chin over her bowl of porridge. They were going to get an earful, a great deal of ribbing from Dwight and Ned when the truth outed, but to little harm. Prudie turned from the sink with a sigh watching Ross and Dem digesting the new challenge of the long held gossip over them being true and the inevitable tattle that would bring. Ross looked untroubled and amused and Dem was plainly working to keep that attitude for herself, understanding Ross to be untroubled but nervous in herself. In truth Prudie was fearing mightly for Dem. Ross were a man an' folk pointed fingers at him (and ol' Joshua before 'im) from time back but Dem were just a maid. Prudie was holding her tongue in their first flush of romance for the bigger conversation was more important; Dem 'ad the gossip round 'er neck from the start. Once it got about that Ross were really 'avin' 'is way wi' Dem she'd 'ave no reputation to speak of from 'ere t'Illugan. And them two was daft as anything, carryin' on... master Ross might've gotten a child on the maid even now. Ross were a bit of a tearaway but 'e were an 'onest lad, truly. He 'ad to make an 'onest woman out of the maid. The only protection Dem would have now that they really did sleep together were bein' 'is wife. That was a conversation Dem could not be privy to. Ross watched Prudie sigh. He did sense the issues brewing and felt such gratitude towards the Paynters in this moment. Jud left them be, left things to Prudie if things need be said. Prudie was really so loyal to them, Ross knew full well she was on the verge of 'a talking to' and still she held back, she bided her time because she knew how much stick they'd get from everybody else. Prudie wanted Ross and Dem to have a safe haven. She wanted to be a safe haven for them, wanted them to have their joy. That meant a great deal to Ross. Dem and Prudie shared a fragile smile. Dem waited to hear what Prudie would say but the older woman changed the conversation. "Ain't but two buns in the tin now," she gestured to the cake tin of currant buns on the table. "Jud'll make short work a them. Best t'do up a fresh batch t'day I reckon," said Prudie. Dem nodded. "Yes, Prudie. I'll make the dough after Garrick's walk." said Dem. Prudie nodded. Master Ross and the maid drank down the last of their tea and thanked Prudie for their breakfast. Dem went out to walk Garrick. Ross went about his errands. Jud out was working nearer to the woods. Prudie went about her ordinary chores. She thought to have had a quiet word with the maid during ordinary baking chores, but changed her mind, thought better of it. Dem weren't gonna make Ross mind. Couldn't. She ain't old enough t'say no or know t'better 'im in his behaviour, ain't had a mothur t'warn 'er to be ladylike. It were too new and they was both too o'er the moon to see sense an' as drunk wi' makin' whoopee as each other, bless. It was really down to master Ross. It was for him to make things right, to be less simple minded in their trysts, to do right by the maid and take responsibility for himself and the gurl. She would speak plain and expect the lad to do right. If Prudie had any say in the matter they'd be wed afore long...

Chapter Text

Ross felt the moment of hovering correction as the car's wheels rolled over the small mismatch in height from the road to the rest of the drive, one, then the other, then level once more; a swale of bouyant movement as he returned from London, an all body 'welcome home' as he parked. Used to coping with Julia's bizarre hours of wakefulness, it was nothing to Ross to wake before dawn and make his way back to Cornwall after the band meeting occured and the photographer got the shots for new promotional photos. Ross looked to the orchard and saw Jud already there. Ross left his things in the car, left bringing them back into the house for later, and waved to Jud in the distance. Jud waved back and Ross went over to say hello and talk through their comings and goings. The sun giving its warmth to the day. Jud examining the fruiting branches in the deep green grove of trees. The air full of nature's greenery with a hint of sea salt as a quiet perfume underneath. Ross inhaled a long breath that infused him with Nampara's calm after London's helter-skelter of band responsibilities and urbane surroundings. From one home to another and the expansive difference of his Poldark ancestral seat compared to the smaller confines of the Vennor flat. Without further speech they passed through the apple trees and walked towards the house, through the garden on which Demelza had put in so many extra hours last summer. Ross could see Dem had already left the carry cot out of doors but did not see her. As he approached he could tell Demelza had ducked back in the house in the midst of gardening. A spade and other small hand tools lay in a jumble by the more recent beds at the far side of the original wall. Mama's front garden had become an ongoing project for Dem for years, tending the few straggling remnants of the plants Ross' mother had grown at the edges near the house itself, the roses, the lilac tree; things Grace Poldark had planted and Ross had come to know at every stage of his growth, remembered Mama cooing an amused scolding to baby Claude toddling about trying to grab flowers in their beds. Ross remembered being small, walking in the garden with Mama himself holding her hand, lifting his arms to be picked up bodily and held. He had earlier memories too, of watching sunlight through the branches of the lilac tree, laying on his back in the drowsy calm of a napping child, a remnant of memory one might not expect to remain with any clarity but sharp as a tack in his mind's eye. No one day; perhaps the culmination of every pretty day; sunny days that all the young mothers and doting nannies and loving grannies in England rushed to bring their little ones out of doors to have fresh air. The moments that meant nothing much at all at that present but meant everything later as an eddy within a frozen time, holding that time, holding the past. No sense that Ross was even himself in that moment, just a living part of this world and the sunlight, the tree, the scents around him as they are right now. Ross had been infused with Nampara and his mother's care in the leylines that held all of this land, his family and the memory of an older love now that his parents and Claude were gone. Interconnected. Dreamlike, for Ross had been so small the satin lined sides of the pram were part of the memory, stiff ivory cliff faces at his sides. It was very clear in his mind, very accessible to him. A legacy of family and place, ownership in it, in a shiver of sunshine, shadow and lilac blossom over his infant eye, for keeps.

The garden prospered. Demelza had bought some hollyhock seeds the previous year, and in the windless summer they had colored the walls of the house with their stately purples and crimsons. Ross looked forward and the gentle shudder of the cot's sides showed the young lady in residence to be awake. Julia lay in her cot in the shade of the trees and, seeing her awake, he walked across and picked her up. She crowed and laughed and clutched at his hair. "Hello, Julia!" sighed Ross. He knit his brows at the pull upon his scalp but it didn't really hurt. He waved back the fall of his forelock with a freed hand being at too close quarters to Julia to flick his head back. She mushed her wet face against his in happy accident rather than intentional greeting but it was a fine how do you do, her grin so wide she christened his cheek and chin. He laughed and Dem appeared at the door quite unprepared to see Ross had returned. "Ross!" she stood at the front door in a stunned happiness, watching Julia bring a beatific satisfaction to his face, and Jud returning from the orchard in the rear. Ross' chin tilted up, eyes scrunched, happy in a primal, wonderful collision of what Nampara had become for him; his legacy, his progeny and Dem, She was in her white muslin dress over jeans with the folk embroidery at the neck and down the sleeves, bright at the knee with a primitive hem of red blanket stitch that some enterprising grandmother or young mother considered the crowning finish to their festival garment, in some Slavic country or another, from the indefatigable arsenal of peasant blouses and tunics Dem had, plucking them from second hand shops as if Dem had some sort of homing device for the stuff... and vintage slips... And it gave him a queer twist of pleasure to see that she was holding her gloves, she'd gone in the house to retrieve them from the laundry alcove that had the utility sink and shelf full of her vases and glass jars for cut flowers. She was ever Dem, in her mode of dress and energetic attitude. The essential impish vitality of her would never alter, but it was more under her control. Gradually, without pretentiousness or haste, she was moving toward little refinements of habit. Dem used to get her hands right down in the soil in her first forays into rehabilitating the garden. Now she wore the gloves and though she occasionally went it to get to gardening without them she would duck back into the house to get them. Dem was Mistress of Nampara and their daughter lay in a modern carry cot like he and Claude used to lay in the old fashioned pram that would out do Cinderella's carriage for its chrome bits, fancy handle and spindly spokey, white rubber wheels. With a wide grin, he ran with Julia on his shoulder to meet her.

Jud fell back a bit, watched, let young Ross meet up wi' Dem wi' tha space apart like, an' the little un. He went forward like shot an' scooped the cheil up. Wi' the lad's 'air so long, the swift ease an' certain sure movement to the pick up the babby tha ol' Joshua ain't never 'ad, like a mothur would, you could almost swear blind tha Mistress Grace were in 'er garden wi' Master Claude! Felt like som'ing d'walk o'er yer grave. 'Is 'air were long and dark like 'is mothur. An' 'e d'run t'Dem, true Mistress now though she still a right tiddler. A young babby, a young Mistress, young Master Ross on firm feet now, not actin' wild. Tha's 'ow Joshua coulda 'ad it, if they ain't lost Master Claude, if'n Mistress Grace hadn't'a met 'er reward. Them young'uns wed an' startin' the Nampara branch up again... 'Tha's of it...' thought Jud.

"You're back!" and they met for a kiss, Julia's little head near. "Hello, my love, I've a special delivery," joked Ross as he held Julia forward for Dem. Julia crowed with joy and Demelza took her from him. "There is another tooth, Ross. See here. Put your finger just here. Is your finger clean?" He produced his finger for inspection. "Yes, it will do. Now." Ross ran his fingertip across the lower gum and felt a scratchy, sharp edge puncture the smooth padding of the gums. He slid it the other way in confirmation as Julia's face froze in the merry startle of a happy baby near the people she knew best. "Yes, indeed. She'll soon be able to bite like Garrick." Ross pushed back the hair Julia had ruffled. It was an action that made him suddenly boyish. The smile between them was very warm. They went inside.

As I was going to St Ives,

I met a man with seven wives,

Each wife had seven sacks, Each sack had seven cats,

Each cat had seven kits: Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

How many were there going to St Ives?

Dem sat on their bed, having just changed her diaper, and spoke a riddle over her as Julia showed herself to be a marvel of ingenuity and managed to get her foot into her mouth. "My goodness, Julia," said Ross. "Sharpening your teeth on your own feet seems a bit warlike." He fell silent in thought. "What?" asked Dem. "So a man with seven wives makes eight," he pondered aloud. "Ross!?" said Dem sitting upright from leaning over Julia. "Have you never heard 'As I was going to St. Ives?!" He shrugged. "If I did, I must have been small, I don't recall," Dem laughed heartily. "Listen again, Ross!"

"As I was going to St. Ives,"

Dem recited it once more,

"Each wife had seven sacks," said Dem. "So 49 sacks, seven wives plus one husband," began Ross. "Ross! Listen! Each sack had seven cats..." Dem became increasingly giddy as she said each part and Ross struggled with multiplication and addition at each point. Julia laughed a husky laugh, laying on her back, enjoying her foot and understanding that her parents gave good entertainment if not the riddle itself. Ross stodgily continued to try to compute the total in a show of genuine thought and confusion that was so charming. Ross could write music in notation, stop on a dime playing guitar in given any tempo, by ear; so confident and clever in so many things yet struggling with "As I was going to St. Ives" and trying to envision the numbers in such earnest effort and difficulty. Dem was so charmed by it. Ned and Dwight would never let Ross live down something like this. That was the difference between friendship and marriage, thought Dem. She would rib him over this in a moment herself, but as a private amusement that she'd not bandy about to anyone else later. Ross would retain what was cool and imposing in him to his bandmates. Maybe it wasn't just marriage. Maybe the loyalty of Resurgam held the balance just as much. For all she knew Dwight and Ned were circumspect over parts of Ross' life they'd not tell her. She laughed again. "Ross! One person was going to St. Ives, all the rest, the wives, the sacks, the cats and kittens, they were coming from there!" Ross blinked in incomprehension and then complained with a near pout. "But you didn't say that! You just said you met them!" Dem rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't be a riddle if I said that!" They laughed a good laugh then and Ross ducked his chin in the acknowledgement that he was close to earning a dunce cap in his show of tortured arithmetic. Spontaneous and unthinking in it, close enough to and intimate enough with Dem in their love and friendship to not feel self conscious in that moment but sheepish over it in retrospect. Ross somewhat relied on the societal conception of being older than Dem and therefore wiser. "I was never good at maths," Ross admitted with a wry smile. Dem grasped his hand with a merry smile. "My lips are sealed." said Dem. "Do you hear that, darling?" asked Ross lifting Julia up into his arms and her instant mirroring, putting her plump arms round his neck. He stood. "Your mother is good to your Papa, she keeps our secrets safe." Julia agreed with a burble like a bumblebee. "bruuhbruuhbruuh..." "Really?" asked Ross, "Tell me more, I'm all ears..." The disappeared into the hall. Dem tidied up the diapering things. The two way conversation growing fainter and Ross' foot fall on the stairs. The house went quiet and Dem looked in the parlor but Ross and Julia were not there. "We's leavin' maid," said Prudie as Jud tugged his cap to Dem and went out to their car. "Prudie, did you see where Ross went with Julia?" "They went out the back door," said Prudie. They said their goodbye and the Paynters' car could be heard leaving the grounds as Dem went to the back door and left the house to see where Ross had gone.

Dem could see Ross in the distance, at the higher edge of the cliff over the swimming hole. He held Julia at his chest in his arms as the water beyond glowed pink and gold from the sun lowering itself by degrees, the sky blushed in the reds, purples and flame orange of days' end. Dem held herself back, simply watched Ross hold their child in a sense of rightness and affection. Ross upon his land with his daughter. Their daughter. Showing her the vastness of the sea and the freshness of the air and her home beyond the walls of Nampara. Dem's heart felt full. She had come to love this place, playing at the edge of the sea with Garrick, contented now, knowing that their children would know that joy too with an extra savour. This was their land. They, Julia first, were the next links in the ongoing chain of succession that was Poldark. Their babies... The breeze toyed with Ross' hair and Dem took a last look, striving to keep hold of the memory of the sun on the water and Ross so vulnerable and loving in his parenthood. Not just in her mind's eye, in her heart. The sense of total trust in Ross, so basic to her from their life together and the miracle in knowing that to be true implicitly. If Pa held a baby, standing near the edge of a cliff, Dem would be scared witless, afraid he might pitch the child over the side. She hadn't any sort of fear watching Ross and Julia. No frisson of doubt. The sunlight on the water, the glowing sky beyond, the sight of her family. Their love. Ross' love. That is what impressed itself upon Dem as she watched her husband introduce their daughter to her birthright. Two Nampara Poldarks together and the third at physical remove but just as close. A last look, a half step back, wavering in her place on her back foot and not willing to lose sight of them yet, the memory carefully tucked in Demelza's mind as a keepsake before Dem went back inside the house to await their return.

Chapter Text

The back and forth, Dem stealing away back to her room in the morning to retrieve clothes and prepare for the day was becoming very silly. That went on for a few days. Ross turned his head slowly and opened his eyes in a quiet movement -she thought him still asleep- as Dem rose to go back to her room. Her dress lay in a heap on the floor and she snatched it up and wrapped it round her, as if by so doing she hid from herself. Leaving on tiptoe across to her own bedroom the door creaking as it opened and shut. Ross closed his eyes having enjoyed the absolute sinfulness of ogling Dem's pretty backside, long arms and slender legs as she prepared to leave the bedroom, believing herself unseen. The delicate look of her wrist as she opened the door, the ballet balance in the arch of her foot, her heels raised from the floor and the cloth of the dress around her frame accentuating her nudity as much as it covered it up. The body of a woman. He felt sleepy and lazy at this moment, just waking but still feeling fatigued from an excess of physical loving. He'd not exhausted his interest in her for all Ross had gone at it hammer and tongs overnight. In his mind's eye, Ross imagined springing forth from the bed and scooping her back up in his arms, pluck her up from behind in her tiptoed retreat and drag her back into bed. Lift her bodily, her feet at a pretty pointe, her body warm against him as she'd laugh her surprise and he'd smile his wicked intent, enfolded in his clutches, nested together her bum at his groin, fall back into bed, nude and warm, with the changling he'd found, the West Country girl that changed from a boy to a girl to a woman. She had grown; grown up. Dem's youthful features were cleancut and wholesome, still there, but watching her in her nudity, watching her bend over to pick up the dress, her look was adult. Her smell was adult, a whisper of musk hovered from her movements that was all woman, her body marked by womanhood in her shape, in her flavour, in her cries of pleasure in the night. That which was young in her still showed in Dem but the child in her was gone. Ross lay in bed and idly tried to remember her as a thin little urchin trailing at his side with Garrick in her arms on a late London night. Remembered it in truth, could see her in his mind but it was no use at all to pair that girl with his Dem. The urchin was gone forever. He felt like someone who had adopted a tiger cub without knowing what it would grow into. He had an inkling now though...

"Dem," he caught her; both of them dressed but Ross still had to button his shirt closed, grasped her hand before she turned to go down the stairs, before they saw the Paynters, another late arrival to breakfast the Nampara servants chose to forgo any censure of. She smiled her 'Yes?' as he caught her by the hand and she turned to him bodily, like a dance. Lips close enough to kiss so he did, and not a peck either. Slightly soured in his breath of the morning, hers a cleaner flavour for she had drunk some water. It was not unpleasant. Ross growled a happiness in this and feeling her hand grazing his chest beneath his open shirt, a teasing of her fingertips at his nipple, tweaking a sudden interest from his loins. Happiness the subtle sense of knowing they were intimate, that a bit of morning breath could be borne in the process. Happiness that Dem felt no inhibition and put forth her sexual interest in Ross with an equity in it that kept surprising him. They were well matched, she did not wait to be directed by his desires, Dem had, as much a young girl could, come to own a bit of the masculine, a bit of the bravado of the seeker, not the sought. Dem knew her own mind enough not to wait for Ross, she threw her gauntlet herself, engineered her own seduction of him and that leveled the playing field between he who was twenty-six and she who was sixteen. They parted from the kiss, faces near. Her eyes retained the mischief of the night in the light of day. Ross smelled incredible. All that was him and all that was them, the perfume of the bed... Demelza wanted to bury her nose in Ross' flesh, it was addicting. She grinned. He grinned. "You should bring your things into the bedroom, Dem." Her eyebrows raised and Ross nodded vigorously. "That other wardrobe is practically empty, you can put your clothes there and the closet too," Her eyebrows lowered but Dem still looked surprised. "Really?!" Ross shrugged briefly and explained his logic. "Yes! There's no reason for you to keep going back and forth. The horse is already out of the gate," Dem tittered a laugh and Ross met it by putting his hand at her waist. "There's no reason to pretend ourselves the same now we're different," He let his foot mount a stair, about to go down. It brought him more to Dem's height and he remained near, better aligned at her neck. "There's little enough in the medicine cabinet too, just razors and things. You can bring whatever is in the hall bathroom too." He brought his lips to her neck and enjoyed the giggle it sprung from her. "We'll have to wait for the license to go through," said Ross, chagrined. "We can apply but they don't permit the actual wedding to happen for about a month. We don't have to wait that long between us," murmured Ross. Dem smiled as she felt Ross lips moving at her collarbone. Warm. Warmth together, so near. Ross smiled as their heads dovetailed nearer, as his chin met her neck and her cheek became rounded in her smile at his. Both of them enveloped in the other's hair and content in it, her hand at the banister, his hand at her hip, the other hand for each resting loose at their sides, not an embrace but it felt more than an embrace somehow. Standing near at the stairs, recognizing the scent of sex beneath their clothes, knowing it to be each other's, the other, their own selves and delicious. "Be my wife, Dem. Now, not later." said Ross, quietly. "Be with me, it's just as much your bed now as mine, it's your room too..."

Jud was already out of doors. Prudie heard the tromp and creak of Ross and Dem coming downstairs from the parlor. Barefoot. They weren't lookin' t'go far afield t'day, not into town or som'ing, staying closer to home... She popped her head round the parlor's entrance. Her eyebrows rose and fell to see Ross' chest so plain, shirttails flapping about at his sides and the casual way he caught the sides in his hands, not caring a wit to come downstairs dressed proper. "Good morning, Prudie," said Ross, buttoning his shirt as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Mornin'. Ee want yer breakfast?" asked Prudie in a neutral tone. Dem saw Prudie eyes widen at the sight of them and smiled sheepishly as she reached the landing. Prudie nodded a small, tight smile to Dem with the terse hint that the state of Ross' shirt was a touch of scandal. "Yes, please." said Ross, none the wiser, smiling an aside at Dem and back to Prudie who made no remark. He was happy to greet Prudie and oblivious to how deshabille he looked, still buttoning the shirt closed. Dem met Prudie's smile and felt relief. Each morning that passed without comment over these late mornings and the reason for them brought her and Ross closer to the point when Prudie would say something, but they slipped that noose once more it seemed. "Morning, Prudie," said Dem as she knelt to greet Garrick who rushed forward, befuddled by these late risings, later walks and the new scent upon his mistress. "Hello, Garrick!" said Dem, brightly. Ross went ahead to the kitchen. Prudie watched him go with a brief sniff and ceased to smile, Dem too preoccupied with her dog to see this change. Prudie looked to the maid. From this vantage point Dem didn't look no different but it was clear they ain't washed up yet, the pair of 'em, just rolled outta bed put thur clothes on. They smelt of un, an' it were tha noticeable even as Ross quaddled about the 'ouse wi'out a care in the world an' Dem takin' 'is lead. Young love an' all, bless, but now they was gettin' slovenly. 'Can't wait no more...' thought Prudie. 'It be time t'learn 'em an' make sure master Ross d'make an 'onest woman of the maid afore she got stuck up...' Dem went to the kitchen. Prudie went to the kitchen too and made no suggestion anything was amiss. She made their breakfast and decided to enlist Jud in contriving some sort of feint to get Dem out of the way this afternoon so she could talk some sense into master Ross. As it happened, Ross and Dem accelerated Prudie's sense of priority in this by 'avin' it off, clothes askew, in the parlor not twenty minutes past their breakfast, and Prudie entered the room to Ross and Dem in flagrante. With a shriek of dismay and a terse scold she demanded Ross take Dem upstairs to his room. At tea she told them, in no uncertain terms, to act fitty and brought Dem out of earshot when Jud suggested Garrick needed tending out of doors. It was then the Paynters learned that Master Ross had anticipated his responsibility. He had already proposed marriage to Dem and she had accepted. That relieved the Paynters who increasingly felt a tension between letting them have their happiness, the need to bring propriety to their new relationship and insure Dem's welfare proper. Sixteen weren't no younger than some brides, from time back. Ross an' Dem were growed up together, really. Master Ross were a good lad an' Dem a good maid. They had Nampara, a London house from the lad's mothur and the Poldark name for all Joshua brought notoriety to their branch of the family tree. It would work and knowing the young couple to be enfianced made Jud and Prudie content. There would still be tattle round them, but it could be borne knowing Ross were a good'un and Dem were t'be Mistress in truth. The discussion helped Ross as well for his intention to move Dem from her quarters to his was better accepted by Jud and Prudie now that Ross had made their engagement known. Prudie reminded each gruffler to be mindful of their hygiene in private talk away from the other; approached Dem in private conference as she helped ferry armfulls of Dem's clothes from her room to the master bedroom, approached Ross for quiet word in the parlor. Each promised Prudie they would better themselves. Each felt put in their place when Prudie tersely reminded them that they were without the benefit of their mothers as a check against and an authority over their behaviour. Each were happy for the prospect of another bath.

"Smoke And Fluff?" asked Dem, paging through the little picture book she found in the top dresser drawer in utter fascination. "Oh! How darling!" sighed Dem. The mischievous kittens dressed in little calico smocks ran about playing tricks, stealing jam tarts and then came upon their comeuppance in a gentle rebuke in brightly coloured drawings bound in an early version of Ladybird Books, sized small enough for little hands and 'ROSS POLDARK', a pencil written, bold claim of ownership in a childish hand on the front cover.

Only a few days had elapsed in Dem's habitation of the master bedroom for Ross to realize Dem was in need of her own receptacle for her personal effects, such as they were, here. Neither Ross nor Dem were extravagant in their toilet and grooming but the top of the tall bureau dresser that held Ross' day to day things was becoming too small a place for her brushes and combs, his brushes and combs, the migration of a glass pot of moisturizing cream from medicine cabinet, random hair ribbons and bracelets snaking round Ross' odds and ends and the alarm clock. He also saw the need for Dem having drawers for her exclusive use so she'd have less need to rifle through his. Ross cleared his throat. "Erm, yes... I've had that since I was small" said Ross. Dem looked enchanted. "You kept it all this time?" she asked, still flipping from page to adorable page. Ross was grateful that Dem had no sense of ridicule in her discovery of his favourite childhood book, important enough to live among his passport and other important documents in the top drawer of the bureau. Much like the discovery of the heart Ross gouged and carved away from the finish in the body of his first Strat, Dem liked to see evidence of the sentimental side tucked inside brooding, imposing Ross Vennor Poldark. It was a signpost that showed where his generosity and kindness and sense of honour derived. It showed, for all Ross exuded cool detachment, how much he valued and loved the people and things that meant a great deal to him. She looked up from the book, visibly charmed. Ross gave a half smile of acknowledgement in her soft eyed approval of keeping a book from when he was little. "That's lovely, Ross." she sighed over it as she placed it back in the drawer. It occurred to Ross that Dem had left Illugan with nothing of her own except Garrick, not even her own clothes. She had been wearing her brother's clothes. That was even more reason to give her space of own, all her own, in this room. He looked about. Ross remembered Mama having a dressing table of some sort but Papa must have gotten rid of it. "What?" asked Dem. "What are you looking for, Ross?" "My mother had a dressing table but I can't think where its gone. It's not in the stillroom, I know that much." He sat on the bed thinking. He looked to Dem still standing by the bureau, hand resting at the edge of the top. They were watching each other through new eyes and old. Still good friends, that hadn't changed between them. Still bowled over by the incremental gains in their sexual life. Visions of recent days hovered between them. They saw it reflected in each other's eyes even as he spoke of ordinary things and she stood listening. They continued to converse even as Ross fell silent, staring. He was staring. She was staring. Your mouth... Your fingers... I did that... You did that... I saw you... I felt that... Did you...? Yes... I want... I want you... Now...? Yes, oh yes... Ross' lips parted, he watched Dem like a man possessed and began to undo his jeans. Dem made no outward change to her features. She watched Ross' eyes and pulled off her blouse, tossed it aside to the floor with no ceremony in a nonchalance and frankness that set Ross aflame inside and the sight of her breasts made him rush to pull off his tee shirt in answer back.

A short time later, tempted to drowse but rallying a intent to successfully leave the bed, Ross continued his thoughts from earlier. "Mama had a dressing table. If it was still here you could have it. If it isn't we should buy one for you," Dem perked up at this. Ross felt her startle and felt happy that he suggested something that pleased her so. Dem was smiling. In the old Saturday afternoon films that played on TV, the ladies always had scene that showed them at a fine dressing table to good effect, with a large mirror at the back, luxurious looking glass flasks, jewellery boxes and cosmetic pots upon it and little drawers underneath to hold things. Ross returned her smile. Dem looked ecstatic at the idea of her own dressing table be it Mama's or purchased for her. "That would be lovely!" said Dem, and they continued to snuggle until tea. Tidy, fitty and respectable, Ross and Dem went to the kitchen for their tea and Jud mentioned the dressing table had gone quite soon after Mistress Grace died.

Joshua seemed superstitious over keeping it and wanted it gone. He told Jud to get it sent away, to a furniture dealer or the Oxfam shop, anywhere just get it out. Joshua declined to explain to Jud that the mirror fretted him. Catching his own reflection in it now that Grace was gone made Joshua ill at ease. It was capturing his movement in the empty room in his peripheral vision and that bothered him. It was of no consequence when Grace still with him, sat brushing her hair, talking of this and that, the back of her head in front of her reflection talking to him, watching him, his wife and her reflection in that portion of their room. The mirror wasn't an issue even when she was bedridden and he saw their reflections. He still saw her reflection, ill and wan, lying at the pillows, her profile at the lower edge of the mirror as her lips moved slowly, talking in the mirror over a forest of perfume flasks and other things upon the tabletop but still there with him in the room. After she was gone he did not like the sight of the other Joshua loitering at the edge of his eye at random moments. When Grace was here he had filtered out his own reflection, didn't seem to see it. The dressing table mirror was a constant portal to his wife and her absence left him bereft. He moved through the room and prayed Grace could still see him. Joshua moved through the room afraid Grace could still see him. See that he was falling sideways and falling apart without her. He was less inclined to be home and when he was the mirror was a rebuke for there was no barrier in the presence of his wife to stop Joshua seeing himself, see his own loss as a widower and feel a disquieting suspicion that Grace might be able to see him, after death, and disapprove. Twelve years and he never so much as looked at another woman. His wife was taken from him, after their heartbreak losing Claude... Claude had gone. Grace had gone. Ross remained but how do you get on with a son so different to you? Claude Anthony was simply young, a blank slate. He wasn't like Ross, Ross wasn't like Claude or even Joshua. Ross was always hard work, always too sensitive, always making a nuisance of himself. Joshua and Ross were constantly living in an uneasy sort of truce. Joshua was hard pressed to forgive the bratty, whiny way the boy conducted himself all the time, fretting his mother when Claude necessarily demanded her full attention. As Ross grew he became more sullen but unable to be stoic or sensible. Joshua tried to steel himself to be a responsible father but was lurching between pity in Ross' motherlessness and disinterest in dealing with Ross at all. It was a guilt over him, he knew, but Joshua simply became more angry with himself to Ross' detriment. Joshua knew he was failing, knew he wasn't lifting a finger to correct himself. Grace's mirror was a pitiless eye upon his faults. Grace was beautiful and gentleborn but she was not meek. She had a temper when crossed, a fine temper. It'd flash out like a sword out of a sheath, silver and sharp and glistening, cut anyone down. Loving your children seems easy but it's hard to like your child when they won't act right, it's hard to forgive... It's hard to be bereft of the one person you counted upon living your entire life with... The mirror fretted him. Grace's mirror. The table had been built in two pieces and he had the mirror unscrewed and taken off but he gave the entire piece of furniture away altogether soon after. It was removed but Joshua's distemper remained. If only life were different, Grace would have raised Ross right... Grace would not countenance her husband's attitude and behaviour. He was failing and he was going to keep failing and he did not have the fortitude to improve. Joshua knew this... With Grace had gone all his luck and he was embittered over this. Grace would have disagreed, she would have demanded Joshua make his own luck, engineer a better way for himself for the sake of his son, but Grace was no longer here...

"Well that settles it," said Ross drinking down his tea. "We should go to Truro and find you a dressing table." Prudie stood to start clearing away plates. "Ee should get new curtains an all. They ain't been changed since ee be knee high t'a sprout!" Dem laughed lightly to see Ross surprised at the suggestion. "They're not as bad as that!" said Ross. "They's old'uns! If'n ee be in town anyway you might as well." said Prudie. Ross looked to Jud, who shrugged. He then looked to Dem who grinned. "Shall we get curtains too?" asked Ross, expecting her to agree this was unnecessary. "Ais!" crowed Dem. Shaking his head in disbelief he looked to Prudie. "Since you've already committed me to curtains tell me what you think we should buy. Women know better than men what are the first essentials, if we're to push the boat out." The tone of Ross' voice seemed to suggest no other things were necessary, daring her to add something else. Prudie continued to move dishes about in a serenity. She looked to Dem and in a matter of fact tone told her, "Let me fetch a pen, maid, we'll write a list out proper." Dem actually clapped her hands with glee. Ross looked to Jud again, disconcerted that Prudie was intending a much larger shopping excursion than he had envisioned for the sake of getting Dem a dressing table. Jud looked over his newspaper in a sage good humour. "They's as good as plannin' a beach landin', you be the conscript."

Before the Paynters left for the day, Prudie made a point of explaining to master Ross that his new status in his engagement and destiny as a married man had brought him new responsibility for refreshing aspects of the household. Dem's household. At first, out of Dem's earshot (for it was plain she relished this shopping expedition and Ross did not seek to disappoint her even as he wanted to curb Prudie's added demands) Ross argued that they had gotten by on what was here already and there was no need to flig up the master bedroom other than getting Dem her own dressing table. Prudie disagreed. Them who were gentry were sometimes too secure in thur superiority, used livin' among inherited things and tha brought on a rare sloth from them who were content to let a grand 'ouse fall down around thur ears from inertia. They stood in the master bedroom and she pointed all about. This were his 'ome and the time were right to freshen things up, like. "Them old towels an' bed linens bin used fer ages! The curtains be old an' all!" He stared round the bedroom with fresh eyes, so used to the same things about him, decade after decade, secure in his parent's belongings being integral to his home and this being his own room in unthinking acceptance after Papa's death. There was a tactfully disguised shabbiness about it. Old things. That was a subtlety of old things. The main anchors of well crafted furniture, sturdy walls; they only improved with age and shone their quality. That legacy of quality becomes a bit down heel around them when the other, lesser things become ancient too. The towels and sheets became threadbare, the curtains looked tired. Ross hadn't considered them that way before. They just were. "I ain't bamferin' ee," said Prudie in a low voice, not wanting to make Ross feel bullied into spending lots of money. "But sparin' a little lolly t'renew things, like. It ain't spent bad t'do tha," She nodded her head in the rightness of her suggestion, hands on hips in the righteousness of her reasoning. "You lot are t'be Master an' Mistress o the 'ouse. It be yer turn now. Master Joshua an' Mistress Grace d'make thur mark on the 'ouse, an' the Master n' Mistress afore them, an' afore them too, from time back. You lot'll make yourn. Ee got this 'ouse an' all them good things 'cause them Poldarks afore you gave un t'ee, yer mothur's side an' all. You an' Dem'll 'ave children!" Ross looked up quickly at that. Prudie knit her brows and crossed her arms. "I don't know why ee be lookin' surprised!" she hissed in a whisper. "It's been nothin' else since you lot 'ad at it! Dem's t'be Mistress an' ee needs t'treat 'er proper 'cause it's 'er 'ouse now. She ain't got no trousseau, an it's down t'ee t'fix un. She's gonna be yer wife an' a Poldark an' you's gonna 'ave an heir, Lord willin'! Wha'll yer babby get if'n ee don't lift a finger t'keep the place fitty?!" Ross digested this. Prudie argued he must provide Dem choice in her household goods for that was her right as a new bride. He was provisioning not just the house or Dem in her ascension to Mistress of Nampara, this was in aid of maintaining the family legacy for his future children. She could see him consider it. Ross blinked a gathering happiness, it bloomed inside him. Nampara would have a proper family in residence again. He would bring his side of the family back to life. With Dem. He smiled and Prudie met it with the satisfied glance of one who made her point successfully and felt a bit of pride in her employer coming into his own as Master.

"Yes, Prudie." said Ross.

Chapter Text

An otherwise ordinary day in Truro was given a measure of spice by the occasional sighting of Ross Poldark, haunting the better antique furniture shops of Kenwyn Street and largest department store with his young ward in tow. The long haired musician had often been seen about running errands in Truro, at the music shop or the grocer's, the supermarket or the shops on the High Street but visiting dealers of antiques, was an interesting development. The young squire kept himself very much to himself when he wasn't in London and Joshua Poldark, who never cared a haypenny what his landed neighbours thought, had been as secluded as the son. Tucked out of the way between Sawle and Mellin, inaccessible on one side from a length of private beach, Nampara was a strange mixture of Georgian manor and utilitarian farmhouse with Nampara Cove and the surrounding landholdings more impressive than the house itself. In his cups Charles, Master of stately, elegant Trenwith, was occasionally known to disparage his brother's modest house as having 'as many unexpected features as a cross between a bloodhound and a poodle bitch'. Whether this was half true or half brotherly spite, people could only speculate. Since Joshua seldom entertained, even when his wife was alive, many people of an age with Ross' father were hard put to know what Nampara even looked like inside. With Grace Poldark long gone, Joshua from home, whoring, as a widower when he was alive and now young Poldark flitting about with his rock and roll music Nampara might be an actual ruin! There was talk that Poldark might have been looking to sell off some of his ancestral furnishings for quick money but it soon came out that he had procured a modest amount of well considered, quality furniture; one item being a Georgian era dressing table, presumably for the girl, and much in the way of soft goods in the department store. Interesting.

Dem and Prudie, fueled with a cuppa and an extra helping of teacake apiece, sat in the parlor, putting their heads together to compose two lists; one for the household and one for a later replenishment of Dem's wardrobe, beyond simply needing a gown to wed in. Demelza raised her eyebrows. "That isn't furniture...?" Dem was happy to have new clothes but nervous that Ross would not think it right. She already sensed his reluctance to Prudie widening the scope of their shopping. "It be furnishings!" argued Prudie, insistant. "Ee's gonna be Mistress o the 'ouse. Ee think we's gonna kit out the 'ouse and leave ee out?" Dem still felt a constraint. "But Ross," she began. Prudie interrupted with a shrewd looking, wry smile intending to pave a clear way for Dem's necessities. "Master Ross'll kit you out proper, never ee mind 'bout tha, luv." One could not see Dem's destiny when she were first 'ere as a tiddler of twelve but the maid were master Ross' woman now. They was sweet t'gether, an' Dem still thinkin' like a schoolgurl, not wantin' t'wear out 'er welcome, shy t'ask for more. Not askin' for her due 'cause she be too young t'know what to expect. Dem smiled back. The glint in Prudie's eye was a 'just between us gurls...' sort of look, that Prudie would manage Ross on Dem's behalf. She would support Dem in her new role as Mistress much as she supported her previous one as Ross' ward; Prudie ran up simple shift dresses on her sewing machine and made sure to buy extra tights and socks so Dem always looked tidy. She knitted warm jumpers for her and took Dem shopping for clothes she could wear when she was out of her school uniform. Now Prudie was helping her to become a lady; instructing her to choose new things for the house that would be Ross' and Dem's together, insisting Dem should have new clothes as well and so happy in it too. And Prudie called Dem, 'luv'. Love, matter of factly, like always... Dem belonged here. The Paynters and Ross had given her a home and now she was going to remain here as Ross' wife. Playing 'Something' was a heartfelt leap of faith. She and Ross might have simply admired one another, as good friends, as musicians that were good friends and that be that. Daring to risk Ross' rejection by advancing a kiss upon him was a spontaneous gambit, one could blame the full moon, not Ross, not Dem. He could have smiled, accepted that chaste kiss on the lips and smiled a polite thank you to redirect her away. Had Ross rejected her advance then, resumed playing and allowed her time to retreat back into the music with gentle tact and no disgrace, Dem would have shrugged it away as a simple mischief, as cheekiness. Had that happened she'd have licked her wounds to no hurt. That had not happened. Ross removed his guitar stood. In that pause, the slow walk in tandem, him forward, her backward and both feeling the permission to expand upon that small kiss, Dem dared once more. You can't catch me... He caught her alright... They became lovers and it was wonderful. Had Ross not wanted to marry her, she'd not have fretted for something else. But he asked her to be his wife. Demelza dared in the Long Field with no motive other than the most obvious one, to see if Ross was as shy as she was for similar reasons; but it had achieved a double end. Dem had finished at school and had no intention of returning to Illugan but had no plan for 'What Next?'. Now she knew. She would never go back to her father. She would not leave this place; Nampara, the flat in London, where ever Ross was so would she be, as Mrs. Poldark. Prudie watched Dem's smile turn a bit watery. "Thank you, Prudie." said Dem in the sort of whisper you whisper in spite of yourself, unable to talk properly because you're trying to tamp down strong feelings. Prudie knit her brows and it meshed with her smile in a way that said, "Don't take on so, maid,'" and also understood Dem's feelings. "C'mon then, maid, Jud 'as 'is measurin' tape about, let's measure them drapes..."

Ross parked at the triangular end of road near mouth of the High Street. He always did. Dem knew when Prudie was shopping she parked nearer to the shops she intended to visit, along the streets. Demelza was interested to see that the gentry found ways to distinguish themselves apart even in something as basic as parking the car. Ross seemed to chose this carpark in the same unthinking way he conducted most of his life. He stood out like a sore thumb among everyone with his long hair and casual clothes, broad leather boots like a pirate. He was a rocker with a glamour of rebellion over him but he still managed to live firmly within the society in which he was reared. Ross smiled over his shoulder before leaving the car. "We must visit Pascoe's first but it won't take long. Then we'll find your dressing table," Dem nodded and the excitement of shopping for the house together settled over both of them. They walked side by side, Dem in a white, long sleeved blouse, speckled with tiny eyelet trefoils, a long blue denim skirt and flat heeled, red leather shoes, Ross clad all in black -black jeans, black tee shirt and his boots. They felt very much like two lovebirds in a bower, about to feather their nest as a couple. They were not a gentry son rattling about in his late parents' house or a ward looked after by her guardian in the way they had been previously. Prudie's suggestion that the Mistress of the house be given her due in choosing things for their bedroom gave them both a sense of mission in becoming Master and Mistress in truth and brought an extra sentimentality to their recent love affair. They had lived in Nampara, side by side, from the first and now they were making it their home in truth. It felt different. Ross had ever been his father's heir but Nampara felt truly his in this moment, truly theirs. Dem becoming his lover had made him happy. Dem becoming his wife had unlocked a barrier he had had not consciously known to be over him. He had remained 'a son', in his thoughts, in his conception of his ownership. Even now, going to the bank, Ross shed the idea that he was Joshua's son, in the wings, the proxy of his absent parents, checking in on the finances of his legacy, going to see Harris Pascoe, before any purchases or extravagances were begun like a child asking permission. Ross was equal to Papa now because he was Master in truth. The Poldark legacy would become his and Dem's, together. Ross felt this viscerally and that small change in attitude; going to Pascoe's with Dem as his intended, beginning a new era for the Nampara Poldarks, their turn at the wheel as Prudie said, was heady stuff.

They walked to the little side alley by Pascoe's bank as anyone would from the carpark and no different to any other excursion to Truro they'd made. There was no visible sign of the changes in their relationship to enlighten the eyes of others who saw Ross and Demelza that day. They were quite smitten with each other but did not hold hands or put an arm around the other. The serenity of their smiles might have hinted such but they were both so used to being circumspect in town together against the whispers of others they reflexively avoided outward shows of physical affection in public. Ross turned into the alley first and Dem followed. She liked this shortcut. It felt mysterious and clever. The alley was an open secret in Truro, maintained and swept clean, used by many but Dem always pretended herself to be a clever spy as she walked the short length, brick walls at either side. Ross turned to look at her as he exited first, they could only walk single file. 'What makes Ross' smile different? Is it different or do I see it differently now?' wondered Dem as she smiled back. They emerged on the street and turned to enter Pascoe's. Ross held the door open for her and he followed Dem with his eyes as she blinked a winsome 'Thank you' to him as she walked in. Ross gave a gallant nod. He was about to introduce Dem as his intended and announce his new status as a fiance to Harris Pascoe. Next to the Paynters this gentleman was one of few people in the area who knew Ross from his youth in a sustained acquaintance with the additional long memory of knowing Ross' parents too. The smile on his face was irrepressible, Ross could feel that he was smiling so much it could not be physically halted. He felt it in his cheeks, muscles that rarely saw use even when he was in a good humour were pressed into service, a strange turn for Ross, most often an imposing looking man. Pascoe had met Dem once or twice since she came to live at Nampara, often awaiting her guardian in the small sitting room in front of his office. This day she sat next to Ross in front of his desk. Harris greeted them both was about to laud young Poldark for bringing his young charge to start her first foray into finance, perhaps by establishing Demelza Carne a modest trust against her her turning eighteen. The banker had assumed, with her education finished, it would be a prudent and fine send off as Miss Carne returned to her father's care. Pascoe was then astonished when the girl was introduced as Ross' intended. Harris schooled his face from showing surprise and congratulated the couple in a sincere manner. Pascoe assured the young couple that it was a triffle to change Ross' account a joint one upon their marriage and the funds available for Ross' quest to refresh Nampara's effects as well as arranging a modest wedding. The earnestness in which Ross seemed pleased by his choice of bride, even after all the whispered scandal over his head since Miss Carne came to the district was poignant to see. Ross was so often a troubled young man, it was striking to see him so happy. Fate favours the bold. Everyone knew something of her history and of the rumours which surrounded Miss Carne's presence at Nampara. The talk was old talk now, but scandal died hard when its cause was not removed and young Poldark was about to install the lady in question as his spouse in perpetuity with his full chest. Though Ross would not have admitted to being influenced one way or the other by gossips, an awareness of their clacking tongues did give him cause to be cautious over relaying their news to others. Harris Pascoe could also see that Ross knew this place to be a safe harbour for them above simply informing a banker of his intentions and he was glad to be considered a friend. From his vantage point, over the landscape of his desk he had seen Ross Poldark grow from a youth at Joshua's side, to a man on his own and now embarking upon matrimony with the young woman he had helped in sponsoring her education. It was clear that this recent romance did not stem from any truth in the scurrilous tattle bandied about Joshua Poldark's son keeping an underage ward. That this recent union had taken the couple as much by surprise as anyone was visible in them. The infatuation between Ross and the girl was that of a love affair in its first bloom. New. It radiated a palpable energy from them even as they sat still in their seats. Miss Carne was sixteen, young for it, but it was not uncommon in Harris' day to marry young, not so outlandish. Even Her Majesty the Queen, who announced her engagement at age twenty-one, was practically affianced to her dashing Greek prince at age thirteen... Not having taken particular interest to evaluate Poldark's ward beyond viewing her the length of time to say a polite 'good day, Miss Carne' earlier, Pascoe did so now. Her red hair was striking, she had a good clear skin and a quick mobility of expression; her eyes were intelligent and very frank, a mixture of blue and green which had a disconcerting glint in them when they happened to meet your own. The glint suggested light shone forth from her eyes rather than reflecting that of the room, a trick of the light, surely... Not a raving beauty, or perhaps it was not beauty she had grown overnight but the appeal of youth, which was beauty in its own right. Side by side, their long hair complimented each other; his long like a woman but framing his face and emphasizing his masculinity, hers grown in long waves, like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, one saw her femininity but was struck by how much they echoed the other. She had a shadow of the gamine in her mien; that hint of boyishness had been signaled by short hair on a girl in the 1950s now recast in this newer fashion for longer hair. Their style of dress was individual and a bit defiant, they stood out in his dark clothes, her delicate ones. They were modern and out of time quite at once. Her skirts were longer than most young ladies dressed these days. Ross wore tall leather boots as if he'd emerged from the 18th century. The way some young people threw over the traditional and embraced non conformity was attractive in his clients; Ross Poldark, the loose canon, the perpetual non-conformer, and Miss Carne's fey prettiness balanced the other, their happiness in being together shone like a beacon. Young love. The parish church in Sawle held the Poldarks patronage, one wondered if Ross was intending a county wedding. That would be the talk of the town.

"Will you wed in the district? At Sawle Church?" asked Mr. Pascoe.

Ross gave the slightest shake of his head as Dem looked on. "London." he said and turned to smile at Dem. "I intend to ask my cousin, Verity, to be our witness," Harris crinkled his eyes at the way they were watching each other; children on Christmas Morning couldn't hope to look as anticipatory. "I believe two witnesses are required," said Pascoe. Dem smiled serenely. "Ross' bandmates are sure to come, one of them can witness too." Ross nodded. "They have yet to be told," smiled Ross. Dem blushed prettily. "But we expect their presence," finished Ross admiring his fiance. They were wise, thought Pascoe. A ceremony taking place very quietly in the capital with the presence only of the necessary number of witnesses. Even in London the news that Ross chose to marry his ward would be soon about in Cornwall but the newlyweds would insure a buffer of privacy before it became public knowledge. As if Ross read Pascoe's mind he brought his focus back and said, "My uncle and other relations have yet to be told," Pascoe smiled warmly. "You, Mr. Poldark, are a client of mine and also a personal friend," Here both Ross and Miss Carne's smiles widened. Charming. "It is not my custom to discuss a client's affairs with any third person." He nodded warmly towards them both, his smile showing him to be genuinely pleased for them and, much like the Paynters, felt protective over them and their first flush of romance. "I am honoured to be privy to your happy news." said Pascoe.

Ross and Demelza took their leave and found themselves back on the pavement with a mission. To find the dressing table and the various household effects that would bring the newest era of the nearly two hundred year old Nampara to be, that of Ross and Dem. Ross scanned the road, getting his bearings, not caring a button at denizens of Truro glancing at them as he did so. The furniture shops that offered fine antiques were clustered in Kenwyn Street, the sort of places Ross remembered Mama browsing in and all the dressers and tables, breakfronts and cabinets, shoulder to shoulder and even stacked upon each other like building blocks seemed like the walls of canyons when he walked among them as a child. Places where the quality of the items was equal to what was already in the houses of a surrounding community filled with ancient estates. Maybe Mama and Papa felt the excitement of choosing things for Nampara the way he and Dem did today. He walked in that direction, knowing Dem to be at his side, knowing Pascoe was happy for them and a bit giddy to buy antiques for his future wife for a future within their own home. Dem fell in alongside him as he strode true and she still retained a small hop in her step. It was waning, the updownupdownupdown of the gait of her younger days. Today a whisper of it returned for she was so happy the energy in walking proudly at Ross' side created buoyancy. She took big masculine strides to keep up with his and they embarked upon their shopping in a halo of confidence.

"We'll go to Kenwyn Street first," said Ross.

Chapter Text

Dem had not been in this area of Truro before. Prudie shopped the High Street and most of Ross' errands were satisfied there too. Lower Kenwyn was near enough to those shops that Dem somewhat familiar with it on sight but stringing in the opposite direction was a group of furniture dealers and small antique sellers more posh than the second hand charity shops Ross and Dem gravitated to and found inexpensive and useful day to day items in now and then. Second hand here meant a great deal of money changing hands for fine examples of superior cabinetry and household decoration. Humming with people on the weekends, window shopping or actually shopping, it was a place less trafficked on a weekday and any shoppers here made more noticeable, presumed to be either in need of serious furniture or, more likely, wanting to sell the same in the elegant manner of remedying being land rich and cash poor, a common complaint in gentry circles. Less discreet than selling one's silverplate or jewellery in comparative anonymity to dealers tucked away among other shops on Prince or Lemon Street, weekday excursions to the warren of antique furniture sellers held the conundrum of being relatively private in one dealings in the shops themselves but conspicuous to others who saw you in that area. Ross had little cause to be in Kenwyn Street either but a wisp of memory guided his steps, the shadow knowledge of childhood and being led by the hand into different, dimly lit shops that smelled like old wood and varnish and thus 'like home'. Ross, a child at his mother's side, had little reason to suspect weekday jaunts held a taint of having succumbed to hard times and needing to sell one's furniture to raise funds. At the mouth of the street the buildings were shorter, almost residential in their design and stretched in sharp perspective, the vanishing point glowing in blue sky where the turn made the road disappear and the cathedral loomed over the buildings in the distance, its three spires hovering over greater Truro like a watchful parent. Dem looked all about. The same tidy glass shop display windows, wide panes of glass and the window frames painted white, a style common in the area full of so many stone clad buildings were less here. Many of the furniture places looked more like private homes with residential looking windows. The sellers of smaller items, brassware and plate, curiosities and decorative objects were the more traditional looking shops and filled their windows with gorgeous wares. The plain buildings were predominant on Kenwyn Street. It made you pay more notice of the proper shops. Ross watched Dem look at those shop windows as they came upon them with interest as they passed them and he made a promise to himself to take her shopping on a Saturday and let her spend money as she pleased. The album was doing well and the tour should help sales too... "Let's try this one," said Ross. Dem looked to the nondescript storefront, like visiting a home with a brass plate announcing the building to be a 'Purveyor of Fine Furniture' over the knocker and a small card in a closed curtain window showing its hours of trade. She nodded agreement and Ross opened the door to let her through. They walked into a dark little shop, stacked almost to the ceiling with antique furniture and carpets and oil paintings and brassware. From the semi-darkness a little pockmarked man with a curled toupee that did not match the hair at the sides of his head which grew quite limp and flat. He shot out to greet his customers. One of his eyes was malformed by some accident or disease, giving him an odd look of duplicity, as if one part of him was withdrawn from the rest and taken with things the customer could not see. Demelza stared at him, fascinated. He might have been a magical peddler in a fairy story. He seemed as mysterious and antique as his wares. The shop keeper felt much the same about his clients. What light filtered through the curtains made a sort of haze round the long haired man in black boots like a highway man and the delicate girl who's green eyes flashed lights at him that should not be. They enquired for a dressing table, or Ross did, Dem remained quiet and let Ross do the talking. They were led into a back room where a number of new and secondhand ones were stacked. The new ones had the swirls and decorations of traditional work but the newness of them was distracting. You could carve a table to look like an older piece but the youth of the wood put it at a disadvantage to real, historical examples. Some inherent good taste told Dem that the new made pieces had nothing to equal the old. Living in Nampara made the patina of the recent wood finishes a mite too bright, too much to her eye. The lived in feeling was absent and even though they were handsome they left her cold. Ross inquired if their were any smaller side tables to choose from and whether these were the only dressing tables. Other things were bought. The little shop keeper rushed downstairs for a special Indian screen he had to sell. Dem took a fancy to its intricately carved birds and flowers and Ross agreed that it could be made use of in the dining room. The shopkeeper suggested a vendor three doors down for a vanity table, for a rising tide lifted all boats and the antique dealers were eager to keep customers happy in Cornwall than have serious clients choose to abandon them all to Bath or London for their needs. Ross had the items organized for delivery to Nampara and they entered the light, out on the pavement and returned to darkness once more in the shop, as all the shops kept their windows covered to protect their wares from sunlight. This gave all the old shopkeepers the eccentric looks of a vampire in its catacombs or a magical being who preferred human form at the moment. This second shop was just as crammed with elegant things as the first with no recent made examples. Ross followed Dem who followed the shopkeeper and they viewed very beautiful 18th century dressing tables with pretty carving and even the drawer pulls tiny works of beauty in their brasswork. Some were too antique, small and boxy with tiny drawers hinged in cramped, odd configurations, not much room to sit, mirrors too small. But one caught Dem's fancy. Ross made no remark as to his opinion but he liked it too. It was of a size with his mother's table and had the same bowing curve to the front, all the shelves followed that curve under the tabletop as if the wood was a pliant ribbon and then froze in its place. There were relief carved flower garlands across the front and beneath each drawer pull. The mirror had a faint desilvering at the top left corner, a cascade of dark speckles but that made it nicer somehow. Lived in looking and the rest of the glass uneffected. Dem looked to Ross with a smile. "Will it do?" asked Ross grinning foolishly. "Ais!" said Dem with bright eyes and a smile like the Cheshire Cat.

Ross purchased the table and its delivery was assured. By the time they had finished, the afternoon was well on. "Shall we go to find curtains?" asked Dem, "Or shall we shop for them a different day. "We should get some sort of curtains for the bedroom at least." said Ross. "Prudie mentioned getting them for the parlor too, but I dare not come home without bedroom curtains!" he joked. Dem tittered a laugh and he thought perhaps his words had sounded like criticism. "Where should we look, Dem? Where would you like to go?" His voice was softer in its query and Dem heard an implicit apology for suggesting himself hard done over buying new curtains. They shared a look of renewed purpose as they walked back to the High Street. "Let's go to Roberts." said Dem.

Roberts was the largest department store. It had three floors and was the choice for well heeled families and the people who served such families when errands were necessary on the employers behalf. Prudie, a working class, Sawle village woman upon her marriage to Jud and as humble a background in her original home of Marasanvose, shopped at Roberts exclusively for Nampara's sake be it something for the household or for Dem in the way of clothing or shoes and other necessities for the Young Miss who were ward to Master Ross. She was staunch in her patronage of the place among well heeled shoppers and other housekeepers. When Prudie shopped with Dem she did not put on airs so much as she showed the confidence of a woman who represented Nampara House as chatelaine and lady's maid to its ward. Prudie never failed to add "Esquire" to the delivery address and made a point of having goods delivered as a show of her employers importance if the things weren't needed immediately. Dem knew they had good choice of merchandise in the store and huge books full of things they could get for you if they didn't have what you wanted. Dem knew Prudie would approve of any choice here. Ross, used to men's tailors and clothing boutiques in London, used to clothes just appearing when he was a child (he remembered shopping for shoes in a shoe store, not a department store, trying them on and walking about to see how they felt. Trousers, shirts... when Ross grew out of things new ones simply seemed to show up when he was a child.). He did not go to Roberts and was unused to the place. Ross found it an amusing microcosm of any of the things one could buy individually in the shops on the High Street you just left but the wares displayed here as the finest to be had; and you such a captured audience in the maze of goods, like a veal in a pen, you might as well go along willingly to the slaughter purchase them here. Dem took the lead, knowing the layout of the store. She stepped upon the ridged, loud steps of the elevator, churning upward on its gears and the steps rising and sinking, straightening and collapsing back as it left you on the higher floor and you turned to mount the next one. She watched the floor with the Junior Miss clothes disappear in the shrinking crevice of the escalator's view and continued up to Housewares. In spite of herself she felt a little thrill at that. By passing over the Young Miss section she had arrived as a Young Matron, she was a grownup, as much as a sixteen year old can be a grownup! Ross felt the chattering rumble of the escalator steps moving beneath him, and watched a look of serene happiness come over Dem's face as he gamely followed her to the strange corner of the store where umpteen curtains and draperies lined the wall one after the other to show their designs and packaged bedclothes, sheets and towels were secreted behind walnut framed cabinets of glass and serious looking blue rinse women in tidy uniforms wielded huge catalogues of other items that Roberts ordered on ones behalf. Fat books full of fabric samples the sharp scent of new carpets from an area further on, a haberdashery at the opposite corner sold fabrics and sewing notions. Ross felt the eye of every woman on the floor, shoppers and employees, watching him as he trailed Dem and they went to view curtains. In for a penny, in for a pound. Ross Poldark and his intended would Purchase Curtains.

The ladies at the counter watched Ross and Dem approach the curtain display at the wall. Dem clutching her list with the correct sizes she and Prudie had measured and a shopwoman asked if they were being served. Much like the antique shops, this store catered to folk who had the aesthetic whys and wherefores of the gentry and the general West County preference for 18th and 19th styles up and down the social strata. Many examples of designs and textures that would live in harmony with old furishings were to be had, modern made. A fine calamanco cloth for bedroom curtains, and a rich cream silk paduasoy for the curtains for the parlor were chosen. At the fabric counter they viewed other materials and some cloths Ross bought because Demelza liked the feel of them, a piece of crimson velour and another of green satin, without an actual purpose in view for them, unless it was the purpose of tempting Demelza into a new attitude of mind, that of the lady of the house. Ross found himself enjoying the department store, each section like a portion of a beehive, independent but part of the whole. They purchased new towels, new bedsheets and after viewing what was in store Dem ordered matelasse bedspreads for the beds, by catalogue special order, for their own bed and the spare room the Paynters used occasionally. The saleswoman asked if the order was acceptable at two weeks wait for the bed spreads had to be sent from the supplier to Roberts first. Dem said. "That would be quite convenient," as Prudie might have done, including 'Esquire' in the address with Ross smiling satisfaction watching her choosing and ordering the items. She felt nervous and excited and very adult as she said these things and then the shop lady answered, "Very good, Miss." and would finish the requisite paperwork. Ross and Dem left that floor having bought quite a lot. The shop ladies gave good service but out of earshot from their customers they whispered among themselves that Poldark's ward was leading that young man about on a string. The older Head of Soft Goods Sales Manageress tut tutted over her paperwork for the catalogue order. "Well, dear child, what else can one expect? Like father like son, I always say..." Her associate nodded. "The tales they say about that Joshua! Most comical. I only do wish as I had been in these parts then," The older woman shook her head disapprovingly. "The tales I could tell you of the hearts he broke!" She looked up to the ceiling in an exaggerated shock. "Scandal followed scandal! Poldark's father was impossible, the whole of the county disapproved of him and he was always fighting with fathers and husbands. He was too loose with his affections." The other woman tittered. "Promiscuous, as you might say." she brightened at her own epiphany. "Surely some of the county approved or he wouldn't have had all those women!" crowed the shop lady. "Shhh!" hissed the manageress. "It's unseemly to discuss this on the salesfloor." They resumed their work. The older woman tsk tsked. Surely the rumours about that girl were true. Where there was smoke there was fire. A hussy. Already beginning to put on airs. You can tell the type anywhere. Poldark's 'ward' was choosing scads of things, making him buy them all with a flutter of her eyelashes! And to keep her openly for what she is! That is the worst part! That girl ordered bed linens and four matelasse bedspreads sized for double beds! Bold as brass!

Back on the ground floor were perfume and jewellery as well as men's leather goods, watches and a candy counter. Ross had better sense than to look for wedding bands right in the center of town, they would go to London for all that. He did look at the glass cases on their way to buy chocolates at the candy counter. Many pretty things were to be had, packaged for gift giving in cushioned little boxes. Dem only had eyes for the metallic splendor of foil wrapped chocolates but some necklaces caught Ross' eye and he made a mental note to suggest it to Dem on the way out.

"By weight or assortment?" asked the man at the counter. Ross and Dem looked to him without consulting each other, sure that the other agreed.

"Assortment." said Dem, coveting the fancy boxes of chocolates on display.

"By weight." said Ross wanting choice of his own, not whatever got put in a box already by some faceless person who might lumber them with too many nougats and not enough nuts. Sometimes the only nut filled one was in the center!

They answered quite at the same time and laughed. They answered again believing that their preference would be vetted now that it was known.

"Assortment." said Dem.

"By weight." said Ross. He knit his brows. She knit hers. They were each surprised the other didn't give way.

"Dem, there's little point buying a mystery packet! If we get an assortment we shall not be sure of our values, it may be full of the ones they want to be rid of! If we get them by weight we can pick what we like!" said Ross, considering himself the voice of reason. Dem crossed her arms. "The assortments are prettier!" argued Dem, Her face hovered between lovelorn loss of pretty chocolates and offense at being countermanded. Ross gestured to the admittedly handsome boxes of chocolate. Displayed in glossy boxes, heart shaped! Round! Square! Rectangle! Hexagon! Set in sparkling mosaics of coloured foil wrappers nested in dark brown frilly paper cups, laid in dazzling repeat and formation to astound Busby Berkeley. "You don't know what you're getting!" Ross' voice raised a fraction. The man at the counter looked between them, hesitating to lose a sale, hesitating to provoke the gentleman buying. "Actually sir," said the salesman, "There is a printed legend to identify each flavour in each box." Dem crowed her victory. "See!" Ross frowned. "By weight is better! We should buy the ones we want!" groused Ross. "I want an assortment!" said Dem in a louder, strident tone. The man looked from one to the other, faintly afraid the pair would come to blows, they scowled at each other at an impasse. But the storm did pass. An extra blink of trying to strong arm his position from the gentleman made the girl try to be more severe in her own glower. She was valiant but the man redoubled his glare. The man and the girl stared each other down but then they both started laughing.

Ross purchased a modest amount of Almond Bark, Praline Crunch and Hazelnut Logs by weight in three white paper packages. At his urging, Dem chose the assortment that she considered the prettiest. "Which is the prettiest, Dem?" his voice was warm, straightforward and indulgent. She blinked at him happily. The salesman was relieved. The sudden squall that flared up between them passed just as quickly and it was a larger sale than he'd even hoped when they began. These young vagabonds in shaggy hair and shaggy clothes didn't strike him as potential big spenders. They seemed the sort to dither over it all and come away with just a chocolate bar to split between them. As it happened the gentleman bought the largest hexagon to please the young Miss and as they left the Junior Salesgirl came back from her break in a despair because the Senior Confectionary Manager had not recognized that the long haired man was a pop star, local to Cornwall, and she missed out on getting to wait on him and Dem, the girl who lived out in that farmhouse with him by the sea. She sulked and her Senior was not impressed by a rock guitarist in their midst, but he was very happy for strong takings today.

"Dem? What do you think of these necklaces?"

Before they reached the doors to leave, Ross pointed to a glass case filled with rows of boxed necklace charms on their chains, resting at the point of a little 'v', the rest of the fine wrought chain snaked down behind the padded white satin bed. They were cursive upper case letters of high quality yellow gold. Handsome. "Oh! They're that nice!" said Dem. They stood looking at the necklace charms. Whispered argument was just heard as the Junior Saleswoman insisted that she take the sale, her ordinary patch, the prepackaged jewellery. But the Senior Jewellery Manageress deigned to serve Ross Poldark. He had eyes like his father. One wondered if he had some of Joshua's other attributes... "May I assist you, Sir?" Ross looked to the woman behind the counter. "May we see a 'D', please?" asked Ross. She opened the case and retrieved a 'D', with ease because the side of the box facing the seller was printed with the letter inside. She placed it on the counter and Dem looked at the necklace charm in its box. It was elegant, better looking than she could ever write herself with a pen. It was a bright yellow gold but shone from its good quality, not some bit of pot metal tat. Proper jewellery like girls at school wear. Little initials, little hearts or pendants, 'tin can' pearls, small pearls spread out between lengths of fine chain. Small and modest even as it cost a lot, perhaps not modest because it cost a lot. It was a sign that you were looked after by your parents or your grandparents. A sentimental gift. A bit of pride in the letter that introduced you to the world. A little pride in being you, be it your first or last name. 'D'. She'd not stand by Carne, Pa made that too fraught. She was not yet a Poldark, 'P' was not quite right. 'D' for Dem. Not Demi, Pa's child from Illugan, not Demelza, the name she shared with her mother. 'D' for Dem. Dem of Nampara. She looked to Ross who watched her, looked at her to see if she liked it. Dem nodded 'yes'. "Yes?" grinned Ross. "Yes!" said Dem. He looked to the saleswoman. "We would like this one, please." said Ross in the same tone. Happy.

"Wha's tha one, then?" asked Jud, as suspicious about anonymous chocolates as Ross. It was hard to know where you were with posh chocolates, not like Quality Street that had each kind explained and said which one was which right on the tin and no surprises. "Praline Crunch." said Ross opening the white paper bag wider to allow Jud choice. He plucked one out and bit into it, chewed thoughtfully. "Aye! Tha's a good'un!" said Jud. "My blessed Parliament! Tha's almost too fine to eat! If we took un it would make it lonesome lookin', be missin' ones." said Prudie, impressed and tempted by so many sparkling chocolates. "That's why you have to eat them all up!" laughed Dem. They had a late tea, victualed with fine confections and discussed their shopping trip with the Paynters, enjoying the hot scald of the tea lifting the chocolate taste from the tongue to have a clean palette to try a new flavour. The gentlemen could admit the frilly wrapped chocolates were quite good, Jud was chuffed to have one filled with rum! Ross could say truthfully that the nougat he ate with candied peel mixed in, tart and sweet, was tasty. The ladies munched Almond Bark and Hazelnut Logs and Praline Crunch with the gusto of the men. The chocolate assortment lived next to the cake tin on the kitchen table until the candy was gone and then lived in the hall closet where it held sewing bits and bobs, stray buttons, thimbles, spools of thread. Dem showed Prudie the gold 'D', still in it's box as Jud smiled a broad admiration for the lad gettin' a nice necklace for Dem, as Dem and as his wife to be too, and Ross pleased to near bashfulness to have Jud's regard over the gift. "Ee should put un on ee, maid." said Prudie. She turned to Ross. "Ee should put un on 'er," With a wry smile, Ross stood as Dem pulled the cushioned insert out and removed the necklace from the box. He took it from her hands and watched Dem, pull her hair to the side to free her neck. The hairsbreath pause of the knowledge that Ross wanted to kiss her neck and would not in front of the Paynters. The chocolate tinged grins of all four knowing this to be so. He put the 'D' round her neck and they all admired it.

Later that night they retired to their bedroom and made love. They lay close afterwards but Dem soon got up with a start. A jolt of awareness that Ross felt in her abrupt movement. "What is it?" he looked to her perplexed. She looked to him as she brought her hands up to take off the necklace. "I'm afraid to sleep with it on!" she smiled apologetically. "I wouldn't like to lay on it wrong and break it!" Ross relaxed. "Ah..." He lay a bit more on his back, watching her. She closed the clasp and coiled the chain and charm on the top of the bureau. She looked to Ross, casual in their bed, lying there nude and resting his head on his arm under the pillow. Smiling. Ross was no stranger to smiling but Dem was certain he'd smiled more smiles today than she'd ever seen in him. "What?" asked Ross. Dem looked thoughtful. "I liked today. You smiled a lot today, Ross." He closed his eyes on another one; gentle, dreamy, pleased. "I had a lot to smile about today." said Ross. She returned to the bed and enjoyed laying at Ross' side on her front half over him, his arm around her his other hand rubbing her back in a rhythmic, slow movement. "Thank you for my necklace, Ross." She felt him nod, his chin near her forehead. "You're welcome. Consider it a surety before we get our rings. We'll shop for the wedding in London." said Ross. They lay quiet for a time. Ross was feeling sleepy and he allowed his mind to drift away over the comfortable, satisfactory things in his life. Ross began to think of walking bare-foot across the firm sands of Hendrawna Beach with Dem at his side and Garrick running ahead of them at the edge of the sea; arranging a London wedding, Ned and Dwight coming to stay for rehearsal and the upcoming tour for the band; shopping in Truro, shopping in London, taking Demelza further afield. Dem snuggled against him more closely. "D for Dem," sighed Dem. "I love it, I'll wear it always." He gave her a squeeze, murmured at her skin. "A 'D' for always. My Dem." She felt his breath, warm at her skin and the depth of feeling at the sentiment he spoke, the hair of his body at her skin, the warmth of their bodies and the bed. She fell asleep. Ross fell asleep by degrees, thinking of the future, a future with Dem. Thinking of the recent past. Play D, Dem thought Ross. Dem had dared, but Ross had answered. She played 'D' and he filled in the rest of the chord from "Hard Day's Night", on his six string, like a sorcerer. Like a sorcerer playing to his sorceress. His Dem. She called. He answered. And Dem kissed upon him the sweetest kiss in the world. Gentle and fierce. Timid and brave. And his. A kiss for a world where West Country girls grow up and become your wife. And a friend for life. 'D' forever... thought Ross.

He fell asleep.

Fin

Chapter Text

He kissed her again. Her lips were soft with the incredible dewy softness of a young girl's mouth. They parted lips with a sigh, at the same time, spontaneous on both their parts. They huffed laughs of good humour over it. It was funny. Watching each other closely and knowing the other person was just as bowled over and happy. Somehow, when love is new, ten years difference in age falls away. The older man can feel bashful, his eyes crinkling from amusement. The younger girl can feel teasy and smile those pretty, soft lips into a smile so dazzling before laughing together. They were together. In this bed they laughed at the enjoyment of their kiss as a man and a woman, with no inequality between them. She was older than her years and he younger and the bed was soft, new and old quite at the same time. Having it off in the great outdoors was life's experience in an hour but lying in bed, lying in Ross' bed, also had both the mundane and the profound mixed within it. Ross nestled his face at her cheek.

"I don't want to get up." murmured Ross.

"Then don't." replied Dem, the smile in her voice was audible.

"Maybe we'll just lie here forever," mused Dem. Ross gave an amused snort. "At some point that would be incommoding," He ran a fingertip down her thigh. Their faces were very near, they were speaking into each other's necks really. The pillows smelled of Ross. Dem enjoyed that scent and laying here with her eyes shut, with Ross' fingers toying with different parts of her body as almost an afterthought, the softness of the hair on his chest and arms, his legs as a sort of force field that touched her body and didn't simultaneously, a fleecy feeling overtaken by the warmth of his skin. Ross' body was warm and solid and right here, sheets askew around them. Before she closed her eyes she noticed his cock was compact and innocent looking now, not the raging spear bristling with veins she'd seen nor the quiet growth and flopping exertions of watching it stretch itself taut, bit by bit; erect but not as fierce looking. Even Ross' penis had moods it seemed. This bed felt softer than hers, possibly because it was older than hers. Ross' father slept here. Did his parents sleep here? Literally? Was this the same mattress? "Did your parents sleep here?" "Here?" asked Ross thinking that should be self evident. "Yes, this was their bedroom." said Ross. "But was it their bed? This bed" Ross lay on his side to look at Dem better. "You mean the mattress?" he asked. Dem nodded her head in the sort of unaffected curiosity he'd come to know in Dem ever since she arrived. He knit his brow, or rather a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. Dem came to see that divot as a sort of timer. It appeared when Ross was deep in thought and then vanished when he hit upon the solution or answer or gave up the attempt. "Papa, definitely. But I don't know if this is still the mattress from when he and Mama were married." Ross rolled on his back looked up into the canopy. The bed was very broken in and soft. He came to like it very much when Ross changed quarters after he came back from the States. He did feel a little odd at first taking over his parents room, sleeping where they slept. Ross wondered if Joshua felt peculiar taking over his parents' bedroom too. It was their due. Their right as Master of Nampara House. Ross got used to it in short order and, in London, the bedroom in the flat was 'always' Ross'. If his parents stayed there he did not know. "It might have been. But this is the Master Bedroom and I'm Master so..." Ross shrugged a shoulder, laying on his back, obscured a bit by his hair. Ross spoke of these things as ordinary and the casual way he let the sentence drop of was very endearing to Dem. Ross lived seamlessly within his legacy. When they met she was agog that he rattled about between two houses, in London here in Cornwall. Ross had a third! The Gatehouse. Extra sheds, apple storage, a trio of spooky looking abandoned cottages, and the whole beach behind the house. Ross owned all these places and lived as if it was all unremarkable. He shared it with her as if her presence was unremarkable, just was. Now she had lost her virginity and they were laying in his bed and he seemed to have absorbed this occurrence just as much. "We weren't much different," mused Dem. Mum and Pa's bed was bigger so he put all three of us on that one and took the single one for himself." Ross' crease returned. "Were you all in a single bed?" Even for children that seemed too small. "There were two. Twin beds. I had one, Luke an' Sam had the other but Pa threw the other one out." Ross turned to look at her. He had come to understand that some comments about Dem's childhood often hung an ellipsis. It was in him to wonder why one of the beds needed doing away with. But he did not want to change the mood, a silly sort of mood. Dem was curious about this bed. It was a new place for her and old within the house. He didn't think about this overmuch. Maybe he had been conceived where they were lying right now. That would be only right. Ross was Joshua's heir. Even if Claude had lived Nampara still would have been Ross' inheritance. Living among his family's possessions, knowing them to be his possessions was what was, this was his world. Ross was a Poldark and these things existed to be his very own because others had before him. "Beds don't move around too much in old houses." he said lightly. "It's not that odd to take over somebody else's bed. Your bed was mine anyway." Dem perked up at this. "Was it?!" Ross liked the look of surprise on Dem's face. He hadn't thought about it that way either. Like Goldilocks, Someone's been sleeping in my bed... Ross' face held a smile and a 'not smile'. The pause between him finding something she said funny and schooling his face not to laugh. "Yes." said Ross, sitting up. "That used to be my room." Dem rolled over more in his direction as he got up. "I thought you didn't want to get up!" He walked to the bathroom. "Nature calls..."

She watched him. His hair cascading down his shoulders, his backside, his legs. He disappeared into the bathroom. Dem stared at the closed door but she wasn't really seeing it anymore. She'd seen Ross nude, once or twice before. He had so much privacy on his own land he went swimming in the sea some mornings and didn't wear any clothes. Sometimes in the summer she woke early and she and Garrick would walk about just to walk and watch the day become brighter. One thing that made Nampara better than Illugan was that nature was all around her. Every sort, cliffs and woods and meadows and the beach. Caves! Nampara was its own world and so large the nearest neighbours couldn't really be seen. They all had heaps of land too, not like Illugan round her way where all the houses were close together. Even the flat in London had more space between houses than Illugan. At Nampara, Dem could come and go as she pleased and an amble before breakfast was never frowned upon. Dem wandered at will in the fields and lanes, lolloping Garrick trailing at her heels, to return with a big bunch of wildflowers. Sometimes it was a bunch of meadowsweet and ragged robin, sometimes an armful of foxgloves or a posy of sea pinks and they found their way into the parlor. That morning she giggled to see Ross swimming. It was faintly embarrassing, seeing Ross in the altogether, but he didn't see her from his vantage point so she retreated back to the house with it as a merry secret and also another window into her new friend. Ross was mysterious because he was very private and quiet and pensive but could be friendly and funny and laugh just as much. You couldn't say he was entirely grumpy but he wasn't a lighthearted sort of person all the time either. The differences were intriguing and Dem began to fall into the rhythm of his moods as the Paynters seemed to. They knew when to boss him around and when to leave him be. Jud and Prudie knew when to coax Ross into a better mood or let things lie. Dem wanted to fit herself into this place. Through watching, listening, learning Dem made a place for herself as the most amenable of companions, being content to talk if he wanted to talk, or to persevere with her homework if he wanted to read. Ross never turned her away from playing guitar. Dem always waited, to make sure she didn't step into his own practice. He always greeted her warmly and she retrieved her Gibson, that had been Ross' Gibson, from its stand and they got down to work. Sometimes, in the parlor or more often at his desk in the library he was absorbed in his own thoughts and if Dem saw that was the case she was willing to slip out at once if he seemed to want solitude. That Ross took some of his solitude starkers in the sea was amusing then. Dem had seen him swimming again more recently, a month ago. The tenor of her own attitude had become different. Aged twelve, Dem watching Ross swimming had been a rich joke and a funny secret. At sixteen... She stood in much the same place, it was much the same situation but the incident wasn't funny. If it had been, she would have laughed with a clear mind. Dem didn't know why it wasn't funny. Garrick trotted back to the house and Dem made to follow, picking flowers as she went. She was higher up on the cliffs. Dem passed where the swimming hole was. She could see him. She watched Ross dunk himself underwater and pop back up, shaking water from his hair before swimming forward in lazy broad strokes, his legs were distorted looking in the water, his arse easily seen bobbing at the surface, his back and shoulders as he swam visible over the water but a sudden change in direction brought him to doing a backstroke instead. Garrick barked, possibly to hurry her up having fallen behind. It was not a hardship if Garrick barked, Ross was used to him roaming about in the morning, chasing rabbits. Ross did not react at the sound. Maybe he couldn't hear it from where he was. He swam in the morning sun. The light made the water of the swimming hole very beautiful and the sea beyond looked wonderfully blue green. Ross looked very beautiful. The muscles of his chest and across his stomach stood out to her more. That he was unaware he was being watched, simply pleasing himself in his own portion of the sea was very much his personality. Just him and the sea, him and his place in the world. She was roaming about here too. Part of his world. She was older now. Ross didn't look particularly different. But watching him, seeing his body felt different. That wasn't how she felt years before. Before it was just a giggle, a cheeky discovery. Now... Suddenly over cautious not to catch his eye should her turn her way but unable to stop watching, she recoiled as if the brush and wildflowers could camouflage a red headed girl. She realized her mouth had fallen open and pursed it shut like a guilty secret. Ross had not changed but maybe Demelza had...

The toilet flushed. Dem was laying in Ross' bed. Her clothes were scattered on the floor. Everything else was in her room. She left the bed and scooped up her clothes. She went to her room, which had been Ross' room, to change into clean clothes to wear today.

When Ross returned from the bathroom Dem had vanished. Her clothes were gone too. He blinked surprise, but was it really a surprise? All Dem's things were in her room and perhaps using his bathroom was something she was shy of doing. Ross grinned. When he told her she had been sleeping in what had been his old bed the look of surprise on her face was comic. Maybe Dem simply took her place at his side as much as he took his place as Master of the House in this room. Maybe Ross just reared her into this situation. Maybe the first step was bringing Dem home in the first place, in London, in Cornwall. Everyone around here whispered nefarious intent on his behalf when Dem's presence in this house became known and though he would not have admitted to being influenced one way or the other by gossip, an awareness of their clacking tongues made him dislike the idea of going among them. Between working in London and here in Nampara Ross' world had pretty much become the band and Dem. Ross was no stranger to the talk and tattle of others. Joshua had the county tittering incessantly. Ross was resigned to people believing that Joshua's son was as scandalous as the father. They were wrong. Even now they were wrong regardless how things had changed between him and Dem. They were wrong even as he spent a great deal of last night loving her. Kissed her again this morning... From the very first day of their meeting the situation had tended to encourage brotherly care and responsibility. Nearly everyone in the area thought it a scandal. Well, he had his own standards of behaviour, though no one gave him credit for them. Ross looked after Dem to the best of his ability and now they turned a corner together he had not anticipated when they first met but was that so different to other men in the district? Perhaps they didn't kidnap them when they were under age, that was all. Dem was of age now. Sixteen. Age enough to know her own mind and sense enough to read his before he knew it himself. Alone now, he got dressed. The small disappointment of not seeing Dem in his bed when he returned from the bathroom was shaken off. Ross would have other opportunities to watch Dem laying in this bed, of that he was certain.

Chapter Text

Ross and Dem emerged for tea. The Paynters took pains to behave as ordinarily as one could do after hearing the goings on between them in the hall bathoom. Jud and Prudie would not tease them twice. They'd given Ross and Dem a good natured ribbing in the morning when they caught sight of them speckled with bits of stray grass and master Ross with a cornflower stuck behind one ear, clearly having made the Long Field their bed for the night, clearly subsumed in the newness of the thing. Prudie turned from the stove to see them enter the kitchen, Dem just a beat behind, both of them a morsel wide eyed at resuming the commonplace rituals of the household after upending the natural order of things. Ross approached his seat with a glance between Jud and Prudie so swift it might have been missed by the casual onlooker but understood bringing the teapot to the table or over the edge of a newspaper's page. Ross' expression said, 'it's still alright?' as a shy gruffler and then became Ross once more from the gentle gaze from Prudie, in the small movement of a steady eye from Jud that peered over the paper at Ross and blinked a calm acceptance, not judgement, before it disappeared and Jud resumed reading. It was a quiet show of support between employer and employees that was somewhat above Dem's head as she sat herself down at the table in a dreamy content even though in her loins and in her back there was pain. The loss of her virginity last night, the creative use of the bathtub this morning, had physical ramifications for her. These discomforts were not an issue for Dem nor did she show the frission of vulnerability that Ross had with the Paynters entering the kitchen just then. Inside, in the deepest core of her, was a warmth like the warmth of the ground under her feet last night as she retreated into the Long Field and heard Ross laughing and then his steps behind her, following... She took her seat at the kitchen table as if a golden crown had been set upon her head. Secure in Jud and Prudie's earlier acceptance of events she simply sat and awaited tea.

"Ee want yur tea then?" asked Prudie in the most ordinary way.

"Yes, thank you Prudie." said Ross.

"Thank you, Prudie." said Dem.

Tea and cake bestowed, they ate in an uncharacteristic silence. No murmurs of what went on in the world beyond them from Jud reading the newspaper. No household talk or idle conversation. It was not a strained silence. It... It was. Jud had been advised that this situation would come to pass by Prudie who sussed it for herself earlier, from close observation of behaviour that Jud saw as a brittle tetchiness between Ross and Dem recently and Prudie correctly divined as 'Too much Spring gettin' t'em, eatin' at 'em.' Spring had sprung it seemed. The Paynters having had a bit of a leg pull at their expense this morning, teasing them (As well as a respectful circumspection over what must have been a peculiar meetin' when Mrs. Poldark, Chynoweth that was, found master Ross and Dem as disheveled as the Paynters had in her high handed but polite demand to speak t'master Ross an' waitin' on 'is return in the parlor.) let Ross and Dem direct the way to proceed. The way to proceed during this afternoon's tea, it seemed, was to glow with quiet joy.

"Thank you, Prudie." said Ross standing up. Dem drinking the last of her cup as she stood too, mirroring Ross' movement with a queenly new maturity to her. "Do you need help with the dishes Prudie?" asked Dem. Prudie, who knew Garrick had been confused by his mistress' disappearances throughout the day, answered. "Nay maid. Ee should see t'Garrick. He bin lookin' for ee," Dem blinked. Having so much outdoor space around them, room to roam, formal walks were not as strictly necessary in Cornwall as they were on London but she did take time to spend with Garrick each day and she suddenly looked less like a newly minted woman and back to Dem once more. "Oh! Yes..." Dem turned to leave the kitchen in haste, preoccupied with thoughts of her dog, and Ross watched her go with a smile that held an extra look of attraction, visible from Jud's vantage point. The lad were standing there watchin' as if he ain't never seen Dem before. S'pose he hadn't till now really. For all some folk swore blind 'e were up t'no good wi' Dem, young Ross were straight as a die and a proper guardian. A hesitation showed in Ross just then. Jud could see Ross deciding whether or not to follow Dem and then think better of inserting himself in her time with Garrick. Prudie also could intuit this from a tension in his stance, the hovering motion of halting before one actually moved. To stand still yet hover forward the barest bit, and his gaze followed Dem even if'n he did not. T'weren't everyday a maid turned t'a woman. T'weren't everyday a lad made such a momentous decision t'follow 'is heart like. Bless.

"Can ee get a chicken fer supper?" asked Prudie. Ross turned to her in surprise. "A proper whole one?" asked Ross, needing clarification. Whole chickens were Sunday fare rather than a weekday meal. "Aye." said Prudie. "I 'ad sausages goin' fer t'night but tha might do better fer t'morrow." Ross had a smile creep over his face as she continued. It seemed celebratory, a roast chicken. There was something to celebrate today, left unsaid. "T'ain't got much left t' do in the 'ouse. Wouldn't be nothing to roast un," said Prudie. Jud was behind his paper, grinning. Prudie givin' master Ross an' errand, t'give them two a bit of time t'be quietlike, apart. An' Prudie motherin' un wi' a slap up meal 'stead a workaday supper. Prudie motherin' un wi' enough foresight t'leave them two a bit o protein t'pick at cold, leftover, if'n they needed un... Restorin'...

"Do we need anything else?" asked Ross, suddenly grateful for an task to perform. A quick ride to Sawle might be just what he needed to gather his thoughts and digest all that had gone on today. "Nay, naught but a chicken." answered Prudie. Ross nodded and left to procure a chicken. The hall was dim until he opened the front door and then summer's warmth surrounded him, sunlight in a dazzling clear blue sky. No wonder last night's stars were so bright. Not a cloud in the sky to be seen. As Ross went to the car he turned his head to watch the grasses of the Long Field sway in a faint breeze. As he turned back he could see Dem skipping forward towards the orchard as Garrick ahead sniffing about the roots of a tree. An ordinary summer day. An extraordinary summer day. Ross drove off in a bit of a daze over everything. He felt the rightness of it all now. Not the discomfort of Liza's disapproval and the look of shock in her that the whispered accusations that followed Ross in his life with Dem all these years could have a basis in fact. Surely Elizabeth would not believe him capable of misusing a child... She knew him. Liza was not the sort to bray tattle about. She would not disclose Ross' business but it would only be a matter of time before people would see for themselves that a change in Ross Poldark's relationship with his ward had occurred. He parked near the butcher and walked to the shop with a smidgen more lightness in his long stride, buoyant with the memory of Dem taking off her guitar strap and advancing forward to kiss him; a young woman who was braver than Ross would ever be because he longed to kiss Dem recently and counseled himself out of it, struggling to be loyal to her as a guardian and friend. Dem made up the space between them and leaned forward, pressed her lips against his softly, his mouth open from singing and then frozen silent from the surprise of it, his fingers still playing until she was very nearly upon him. Chaste enough of a kiss in truth, it did not have to lead to more, but a rising challenge lay behind it. She stood back up and looked at him, mirthful and confident, walking herself backward and Ross removing his own guitar, moved to stand and walk forward in answer to her clarion call. Dem taunted him, teased him, challenged Ross to catch her; said he couldn't, eyes bright as stars as she ran towards the Long Field. And he laughed. All he could do stand and laugh for now nothing counted, not lies nor poets nor principles nor any reservations of mind or heart. He had Demelza's full permission to upset the apple cart and begin a new chapter of their life together. They had been together from the first, as friends, a man and a girl. He was careful to be circumspect with her for his reputation was little better than Papa's to the outside world. Under the moonlight and a veil of stars no tattle or disapproval from others could contain or censure him. That did not matter now. What mattered was Demelza and himself. He ran after Dem. They made chase through the warm grass, on a warm night, under a brilliant moon and he caught her. And Ross kissed her. Kissed Dem like he'd wanted to in recent days if he was honest with himself. In two minutes the last pillars of his old life went down before that flood. New passion and the taste of a silk mouthed stranger spooling forward from the girl he once knew as the woman she had become, something that brought up to him like water from a deep well the taste and flavours of yesterday. The swale and excitement of feeling love. Not the blowing off of steam in strange beds, hotels and bachelorette flats as a musician on the road. There was lust, yes, but it was also the feeling he'd longed to feel again and thought lost. Movements in Ross' heart where he expected not to have feeling again after knowing such disappointment over feeling love's promises he clung to dissolved, once upon a time... He dared to caress her, to pull off Dem's top, her body glowing in the moonlight. She reciprocated at once, pulling at his shirt, Ross struggling himself out of his tee shirt, his stiffened cock bobbling about as he stood pulling off his clothes, watching Dem take hers off in front of him with no hesitation. Ross' body was on fire but there was a moment's pause, even as he knew he would not hesitate. Ross stood entirely at Dem's mercy, laid bare at the last edge of no return. He was master here, of this house, of the land where they stood but it was her power, Dem's choice. It struck him to see it no longer as a man chastising himself for bad thoughts. He'd gone back and forth over it all, he felt himself falling. With another person he would not struggle to defeat the feeling; a raging desire that moved through his pulses. He'd spent so much time telling himself 'no'. No, he was older. No, it was his responsibility to be sensible. No, she was young and relied on him to be a good friend. No, it was what everyone tittered over them and it was his honour and hers he would injure if he weakened under these desires. Be sensible, thought Ross. Everything in it from the first day of their meeting had tended to encourage a brotherly care and responsibility. Although he had said little he had felt it. Ross had been too preoccupied with his own feelings to spare time for Dem's. She had brought clarity to his feelings but he only just understood hers. Now he felt himself to be the other half of the puzzle, the suitor; Ross suddenly felt vulnerable. It was only now he thought to ask, Will you choose me...? She smiled with the same mixture of bravery and the unknown. Yes. His redemption. His Dem. He slept with Dem last night, this day and was certainly going to do so again tonight if Dem was agreeable to it. The realities of this made him near giddy as he went about his task; sent by Prudie to fetch a chicken for their supper.

Ross purchased a chicken. He conducted himself in Sawle as he did nearly all of his twenty-six years; as if their was an eye upon him. The eye of curiosity, of judgement, of disapproval, of hailing a young squire of ancient name, one of the gentry families of the district about his business. Ross had rarely known a time where he hadn't understood himself to be under scrutiny, as his father's heir, as the unfortunate boy who lost his brother, who lost his mother, who looked suspicious, who was one of those 'long haired musicians', the one who got thrown over by Elizabeth Chynoweth for his (richer) cousin, the man that brought that girl into his house... Ross was very often self conscious over venturing into Sawle, even larger Truro sometimes. He walked with an outer confidence that was a protective colouration, camouflage. Ross was the person he was, and the person people thought he was, not at all the person people thought he was and the person who worried what other people thought in an exquisitely intricate inner life within Ross, parsing these truths in relation to others; real, imagined in the potential attitudes towards him and his reputation. It was an exhausting and unhappy way to go through life. At the moment there was a new twist to this inner dialogue, a pleasurable one for a change. Ross felt a strange sensation of knowing a new chapter was about to unfold in his notoriety and the deliciousness of it being his secret cheered him. It was insulting gossip over his head ever since he brought Dem to Nampara but the truth of it, the release of it; having embraced what Ross knew to be love with Dem, to have it reciprocated by her and laugh his head off with her earlier in the bath, with her in all ways, both of them laughing at how wonderful it was to toss aside all the reasons to deny themselves and just be, it was a grace over him that salved Ross' ordinary paranoia in his forays into town. It made him amused and happy. He knew himself to be happy.

Dem and Garrick had gone towards the orchard rather than back by the Cove. She felt like a struck tuning fork, all a quiver with energy. The way she felt inside, physically, with the ghost sensation of having had Ross inside of her body made even walking a cause for happy remembrance in the weird stretched interior feeling working itself to become a new normal, twinges of discomfort could be borne. They settled into scintillating echoes of pleasure, a mystic muscle memory of the way her body could become subsumed by ecstasy as she walked. In a sudden excess of feeling Dem hopped and skipped across to the apple tree Garrick was sniffing around and picked up a stick to tease him into a leaping show of anticipation before she threw it and he ran after it. She knelt down to greet him trotting triumphantly with the stick in his mouth. She and Garrick were good friends and it was a strange sort of glee to indulge in the ordinariness of playing with Garrick after such strong emotions and sex and Elizabeth and then Nampara becoming their protection, the Paynters so accepting of this massive change, the happy silliness of the way she and Ross carried on in the bathtub, both of them swinging between pleasure and giddiness. Both of them willing to enter a new arrangement. The rightness of it. The newness of it. She walked further in the grove between the trees, Garrick bounding forward, Dem knowing herself to be changed. New. Dem had no twinges of conscience as to the way she had gained that end, for to live and fulfill the purpose of life seemed to absolve all. Yesterday it couldn't happen. Today it had happened. Nothing could touch that; nothing. Dem felt enobled. She felt herself to be a woman set apart from all other women. Ross' woman. She recalled the feeling of standing in Ross' arms, so sweet around her, as he and Jud bantered,

Why can't a man have it off with his woman in his own home without everyone else putting in their two pence about it?!

If 'n ee had yer woman in yer house instead of rolling around in the grass like them bloody hippies on the telly!

Jud teased them and Dem fit in Ross' arms just right. She turned within Ross' embrace to hug him, warm against him, the scent of the outdoors in their hair and clothes. Prudie laughing like a drain, announcing she'd been expecting this development. How had she seen it? Had she seen it in both of them? Garrick barked as if to hurry her along. She'd slowed her gait, half dreaming, pondering how it could have seemed so obvious to Jud and Prudie. Demelza certainly hadn't known this would happen...

The Paynters were meant to partake of supper t'night anyway, there were sausages enough for them all but they would keep another day. Prudie did feel adding a touch of specialness to the meal was only just. T'feed them up since they was loopy from carryin' on too. T'send Master Ross out for an' errand. Give 'im som'ing t'do. Space. Space to let the maid be. Give 'er time t'be. Let Dem return to the ground since she be floatin' about some proper, all dreamy. They's near t'parents 'er n' Jud, not truly, but Prudie looked after Dem this whole time long and three years on the maid had become a woman in truth. Still young. Still playin' wi' Garrick like she be twelve but old enough to be yearnin', old enough t'know her own mind. Now that it had come t'pass, now that the deed was done, weren't nothin' for it but acceptance. Now tha she be nearly glassy eyed from happiness let Dem find 'er way back t'earth on 'er own terms... What was mothering in Prudie was informed at this moment by her having been a love struck maid herself, years gone. Turning that corner, feeling pleasure and joy in that way, wandering about dreamstruck in its wake was a tremendous moment. Prudie was woman enough to see it in Dem, memory of girlhood enough to understand it only happens once, only your first time once, and it's magical. A dream inside one's body, a new sensation in one's heart. Dem would have a bit of time to herself after such a momentous occasion. Master Ross an' all... Prudie began to the peel potatoes.

Jud went out to continue small outdoor tasks, amused by the sudden change in the household. He had been surprised at Prudie's insistence that Dem were tinkerin' after Master Ross, growin' up behind Jud's back, like. That Master Ross were tinkerin' after Dem, havin' been a proper guardian t'the girl, propriety itself, the whole time long since she been 'ere. In truth, knowing the pair of 'em, there was som'ing t'touch the very heart in un, seein' them so 'appy. It weren't Jud's business who Dem might 'ave belonged t'be with, goin' with, goin' wi' a lad, but he would have made it his business t'look at any boyfriend a hers squinty eyed just from wantin' no smooth fellas takin' liberties or treatin' Dem bad. Now it simply felt like happiness, for Dem, for Master Ross who looked so anxious for Prudie t'say Mistress Grace would have approved of un. Jud joked in that manner because he had no doubt of Prudie's answer. Jud felt it himself, approval, when he came upon them in the hall so disheveled and grass every which way on them. A cornflower tucked behind Master Ross' ear. Dem bashful like an' Ross bashful just as much; coverin' it wi' sassin' at first but his pause, watching and waiting to hear what Prudie had to say, brought a shade of his younger face to the fore. It was poignant. Young Ross had no family round him but Jud and Prudie had worked in Nampara for so long Prudie's opinion carried weight for him. She could tell him his late mothur would have blessed them and Ross believed it as unassailable fact. All these long years of Jud working in Nampara for Joshua and Grace Poldark, working for their son and heir, he and Prudie had become a direct link to Ross' people, one he could trust. Ross held Dem tighter after that, eyes closed, smiling. He looked to be given his mother's seal of approval and it was his wife who gave him that joy. Jud felt very proud in that moment. Master Ross had been ever a melancholic man. Nampara had been that lonesome for him all these years; his brother gone, the Mistress gone, the Master arguin' wi' the lad or ignorin' 'im like when he were 'ome; or up an' away, carousing, while Master Ross be lonely and left to his own devices as a harum-scarum, highly strung, lanky youngster. Loud music and bad habits in London when he was older. Chewin' his 'eart t'pieces o'er tha Chynoweth girl choosin' the Trenwith heir 'stead a 'im... Troubled. Jud had seen a great deal of sadness in Master Ross. The Master of Nampara was essentially a warm person. T'was easy t'make him laugh, even if it just be sarcastic like. T'wasn't hard, seein' him in a good humour. But to see Master Ross happy, happy in 'imself for true; that were rare, truth be told. Jud felt when Ross finally got tired of mourning for Francis' wife he would look elsewhere but he hadn't thought he would look so close to home. To see him so pleased in his own house, and Dem fit in his arms, just so; by the front door in the hall, the dawn of something new and lovely in the center of the lad's legacy, happiness in him from being with Dem, happiness within his house and the memory of his mother... It was a good thing, thought Jud.

Ross returned and it wasn't long before Nampara smelled of scents that were more common on Sundays in Sawle, an aroma Ross and Dem enjoyed as they sat contented in the parlor, stealing the odd kiss and finding it pleasurable to caress the back of a hand, to feel the gentle weight of hand on a thigh or a hip, to sit closer than they ever dared to before, faces near, hair in a glorious tangle, sitting and being quiet. Digesting events within themselves and kissing each other intermittently as an experiment and a surety simultaneously. At length Dem got up to call Garrick inside. Ross wandered back into the kitchen and availed himself of a section of Jud's paper as Dem bustled about getting Garrick his food, topping up his water bowl. Prudie lay the table with the day to day Blue Willow plate and the ordinary, everyday flatware but the meal held a celebratory grandness all the same as a roasted chicken; trussed and plump, fragrant with the herbs and the heat of the oven that hinted of a Sunday meal, shone its own importance at the center of the table. The potatoes lay in their dish promising their own Sunday Best too. The gravy boat was full sending up wisps of steam, carrots flecked with parsley sat like a pile of gold coins in a shallow bowl and bread sliced thickly lay in a cascade along an oval plate. Ross did the honours, bade Prudie to sit and carved the meat, doling it out to Prudie, Jud, Dem and then himself. He sat as the others began to fill their plates and talk resumed. The silence at teatime had served. Now the rhythm of the house enveloped the new normal. They had a fine meal and the gentleman resumed their newspapers as Dem and Prudie cleared up, talking of the news of the day interspersed with with Ross' sarcasm, Jud's wry humour, Dem musing over aspects in singular ways the rest hadn't considered and Prudie's sage pronouncements over the state of the world as she washed the dishes and the implements of supper, returning them and the kitchen to cleanliness with Dem's help.

The Paynters left for the day, still light out in these warm lengthening days. The scent of the house spoke less of a Sunday Best meal and more of early summer, the air the valley stirring the curtains through Nampara's open windows, filled with warmth and fragrance which the land had stored up during the short summer night and a fair, full sparkling summer's day. The house had fallen quiet about them. With ears grown more sharp to the smaller sounds, it seemed to them that the silence of the house was less complete than it had been a while ago. It had become the faint stirring silence of old timber and slate, the sound of the sea beyond the house, birds in the eves nearer by chirping. Jud mentioned the swallows were flying low, proof that rain would come soon, a signal of the natural world that informed him, underlining how people could understand aspects of nature if they could learn to read these clues. The Paynters understood that Ross and Demelza were becoming closer, felt that they would do so, had seen it in them before they'd even acknowledged it themselves. Prudie said Ross and Dem had been plagued by Spring getting at them, 'sure as eggs is eggs'. Jud read the weather by observing the birds. Prudie read Ross and Dem's intentions by observing them. Left on their own, their newfound zeal for loving did not come to the fore right away. Ross and Dem were a bit shy now. For a time something stepped between the man and the girl. They felt it and it left them apart from each other and alone with their thoughts. Roaming the house independent of each other, Ross in the library for a time, knowing he was going to invite Dem to share his bed tonight. And why should that make him nervous? Was it nerves that made him feel so edgy? Why should that be? They went to his bedroom with no hesitation this day... Dem giving Garrick more attention, wondering if she would retire to her room this night. Would Ross want her to join him? Be in his room tonight, in his bed with him, like they were this afternoon? Should I suggest it or wait for him? Today it was simply following him in after the bath, no reason to question it, crossing the hall... Should I ready for bed first, like always, or simply follow Ross after playing guitar tonight? It was the challenge of finding a new way forward now that they made love and each found the other amiable to continue this intimacy. How do they continue their intimacy? Ross and Dem were happy but it was daunting realizing that things were changing. Life was changing but did life have to be so very different? They pondered these things. Somehow, and because of the nature of their being, this old peculiar silence ceased to be a barrier and became a medium. They had been overawed by time. Then time again became their friend. Things had changed between them but that didn't mean that the life they'd lived together up to this point need to be particularly different as they moved forward. They could learn a new normal together and it would become what was. It would be just so. Ross left the library, having made a fidgeting attempt to tidy the desk in an instinct that was not tidiness so much as giving himself something to do as he had a think. Garrick trotted alongside him in the hall and Dem, returned from filling his water bowl again in the kitchen, brought up the rear, having had a think and ready to resume the evening. They all entered the parlor, Garrick taking up his customary spot by the hearth, unlit. Ross walked forward to retrieve his guitar. With the gentle smile of one who knew the question had two interpretations he asked,

"Do you want to play?"

Dem crossed the pews to get her Gibson too. The cornflowers she'd picked this morning and dropped on the carpet were gone. Prudie probably threw them away...

"Yes." said Dem.

Chapter Text

Dem stirred, a bit stiff from sleeping on the sofa all night. Ross had edged himself off of the sofa and was now standing over her, watching her wake. This might have happened in a more poetic manner had Garrick not bounded forward from the hearth, excited to see his favourite human downstairs in the parlor first thing in the morning. "Garrick," yawned Dem in a sing song sort of way. "Good morning Garrick!" He barked his greeting and Dem extended her arm to pull him in close for a hug. She worked to sit up and Ross was amused to see Dem wake properly; open her eyes, look to Garrick and pay him attention, look past Garrick at the guitar stands to make sure her new guitar was still there and not a dream. Then, as she rubbed her eyes free from sleep, smiled up at Ross. Loyalty to her dearest friend, greeting a new friend in Ross' gift of a twelve string Gibson and then greeting him. "Good morning, Ross," she said, sitting up laying a gentle hand upon Garrick's back and looked again to the guitars on their stands. The light in the parlor was hovering between the beginnings of the light of day and the dim filter of it through the curtains at the window. A rising pretty glow that caught her new twelve string shining its inlaid beauty as daylight grew stronger. A pretty glow that caught Dem's eyes and added to their sparkle. "Good morning, Dem." said Ross. They admired each other in a rumpled sort of reverie. Garrick barked again and Ross smiled upon him with the magnanimity of a man who was in the midst of a great deal of self satisfied contentment. Dem looked across to her guitar. She loved it. His present had pleased her. "And good morning Garrick," he added. Dem rose. "I should let him out," she began, standing. "Let's all go out," suggested Ross yawning, looking himself up and down in his rumpled state. "We're dressed anyway..." smiled Ross with a shrug.

So, rather than leave through the front door, Ross and Dem and Garrick went through the house and out the back door, as the newlyweds tried to stretch the stiffness of having slept close on the parlor sofa all night in a series of contortions, stretching their arms overhead or either side, rolling their neck along shoulders, wry smiles of sympathy for each other as they felt the complaint of their own bodies and knew the other must feel the same. Garrick had no such discomforts and bolted forward, happy to greet the day. Ross stood, watching the dog enjoying himself over land he had come to know well and the birds flying upwards in different directions in the dog's wake, startled by Garrick's enthusiasm. The cliffs, the trees in the distance past the dunes, the bright sky deepening to proper blue flecked with swift flying birds like a sudden burst of confetti. The smell of the dunes -of grasses and salt, of the land beyond them -the woodland and meadow and the sea, all that was Cornwall filled the air. Ross breathed in a long breath to enjoy filling his lungs with it. The grass was still warm underfoot, warmth that tented over the land overnight released as a mellow freshness within the ocean breeze. The morning was new, yet familiar, much like the situation they'd found themselves in since they wed; at the flat in London, Nampara here in Cornwall. The commonplace, everyday sameness, of guitars, of companionship, of their friendship, even their lovemaking in a way; knowing a 'before' and 'after', the demarcation between what came before their wedding, in their life, in the first stirrings of physical love explored between them and now, genuinely husband and wife, gave Ross a better sense of what happiness could be. To feel happiness and be able to name its components. What had come before freshened and writ large in a new sense of being closer. One could suggest that marrying was just a formality but it did feel special. Different.

Ross looked out at the sky, at Garrick flushing birds out of his path as he ran and took a deep breath of contentment. Dem smiled to see it. She came alongside and wrapped her arms around him. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Morning, wife," murmured Ross at Dem's hair. "Good morning, husband," smiled Dem, snuggled at Ross' chest, his tee shirt soft against her cheek. They released each other and walked the beach in an unhurried manner. The day was promising to be warm and Garrick romped about with vigor enough for the three of them in a holiday of modest enjoyments. After painting the town red in London with the notoriety of their registry wedding as their calling card among strangers who recognized them from news articles and wished them well where ever they happened to go it was nice to simply putter about Nampara Cove. Leave the notoriety of being 'Ross n' Dem' and disappear back into the quiet ways of home. They watched the surf lap at their feet in its metronome surge and retreat of foam edged froth at the tips of the blue-green of the water showing the brown of wet sand through it as it slid back and forth over the beach. They watched the morning light strengthen around them, the sun's return, the secret pale moon waiting for darkness, chalk white in the distance and nearly invisible against the blue sky. The sun, a warm goddess. The moon, a pale lord. Both of them suspended overhead bringing forward the significance of a previous early summer night to this honeymoon August morning at summer's end, silent witnesses over the Master and Mistress of Nampara. Reaching for Dem's hand Ross drew her close in a half turn, standing in the wet sand and water, between active step and the pause to halt. The motion of meeting, faces near, closing their eyes quite in tandem for they anticipated what came next. Garrick barked in the distance. The sea and surf continued its movement and sound around them and the salted scent, shot with the decay of water plants beached on land, damp and baking under sunlight and the wet mineral smell of the cliffs, the dune grasses, a hint of the Long Field and meadow. Birdsong ever present and the close intimacy of one mouth joining with another. The kiss they shared was deep and quiet and held a balance between all that was wild and passionate in them and all that was friendship and happiness. There was no beach or barking dog, no birdsong or conscious thought of the sea washing over their toes. There was Ross. There was Dem. The kiss receded, ended. The morning returned. As they watched each other they knew the kiss lay within each of them as one that would return with clarity should their life flash before their eyes as death claimed them. A flash of memory head and shoulders above the rest. A man and wife upon the glistening shore.

The walk resumed. Rather than return to the house they had a swim. Their clothing sat in a pile upon flat sheafs of rock that were not wetted near the recessed area that Ross favoured as a swimming hole. Secreted from the beach by higher cliffs, comfortably embraced by rock formations that stagger stepped round and down into it lay deep water, calm compared to the inexorable churn of the wider sea beyond it, Ross often greeted the early mornings in the summer, man and boy, by swimming there. Papa used to swim there as Mama brought Ross and Claude further out to the beach to run about in the surf. Ross could remember walking back to the house over the higher dunes and looking down, seeing Papa in the water, holding Mama's hand and Claude's little foot dangling near Ross' head, bopping in the movement of her step at the corner of his eye, sat on her hip. Papa was near -they were directly over him, high up, walking through wildflower flecked grasses that were nearly Ross' own height in some places and swished brush like noises at Mama's step in flat canvas shoes, bare legged beneath her skirts. Papa was far away -he was so small a sight in the distant water. They were all together regardless of the physical distances between he, Claude and Mama being up high and Papa swimming down below because this was their land. As young as Ross could remember the sense of all around them being theirs was real to him. Ross knew he and Claude were not old enough to swim in that deeper water but Papa promised they would be able to when they were old enough. Ross looked forward to the day when he could swim there like Papa did...

Dem had no qualms disrobing in the Long Field in the dead of night -the thrill of it as Ross took her tee shirt off and she helped pull off his. Nor dressing in a careless manner with him the next morning, so overtaken by the moment they'd had and returning to the house in a carefree romp; before they knew Elizabeth was indoors. The baths they'd taken since, all the lovemaking they'd indulged in since also held no issue for her save the one small retreat of declining to let Ross take her, crouched over her, from behind. Then the issue lay in being too much like assuming the position for Pa's chastisement, something Dem declined to explain. Ross thought that his suggestion might have struck Dem as a bit too animalistic; she was an enthusiastic lover but she was new to it all... He withdrew that gambit. The compromise and solution was to lay on their sides, spooned together on the bed, contriving a languid, slow, thrusting delight between them, their legs fanned together across the bed like a four legged beast anyway and the sensation of Ross' incessant rear entry and one of his arms brought round her in embrace, working his fingers to coax pleasure from her, wet, soft and insistent as he did so pleased Dem very much as Ross entered a near delirium from the softness of her backside meeting his thrusts and the sounds she was making as he stroked her. A fine compromise. A delicious solution. Dem's issue now was her back, or at least what she understood of it's appearance when she craned to see her back, twisted this way and that, looking in the mirror. It was subtle but still very marked by Pa's cootings. In a general sense the skin on Demelza's back was ordinary looking at first glance but it was not difficult to see the remnants of Pa's handiwork upon her when one continued to look. She surmised this because Luke and Sam were as marked as she was and sleeping at close quarters, sharing a bed, meant knowing the topographical landscape of each others injuries intimately. One scar at in the middle of her back protruded slightly. Even though its colour was that of the rest of her skin you could see the scar as a faint raised line, feel it if you ran your finger over it, the most egregious one. The rest were flat, some in thin lines, some healed split, like mirthless mouths. The break in the wound healed apart like lips parted in surprise. Old ones lay beneath newer ones, all of them old now. They criss crossed in a way that was nearly like densely woven tweed or tangled fishing nets like you saw abandoned in clumps along the beaches or harbours. This morning in full sunlight, Dem hesitated to remove her blouse to swim. She never did. Never ever. She always wore some sort of top to cover her back in the water. Folk didn't think twice over it, many girls wanted to cover up a bit to protect themselves from the sun or not show their body so plainly in a swim suit. Ned and Dwight assumed that was the reason why Dem always had a shirt on in the water on the beach; never knew of the real reason though Ross told them Pa wasn't a fit parent to her. Other girls at school never knew because Dem always changed her shirt for sport in the bathroom stall. Ross pulled off his own shirt and tossed it aside. He turned, expecting to see her undressing too, to see Dem's look of indecision. He understood it in that moment, blinked comprehension, a pause in his joyous mood as he watched her look of uncertainty frozen himself between his smile, his understanding of her predicament and his determination to not go sad eyed with pity for her old life. Ross understood. The nudity between them in the Long Field, in his bedroom -their bedroom now, even in the bath together felt different to this. Dem never entered the water to swim without a shirt on to cover herself. Other women might fret about modesty but he knew Dem had other concerns. You really could see how her father mistreated her if you looked at her back up close. You could also see Tom Carne was devious enough to target his aim to avoid marring her with wounds too close to her neck where they might show. Dem's father knew to secret his evil. That struck Ross as being more evil. Dem watched him and he refused to lose their mood. Ross tempered his smile, made a point of not losing it. It was a beautiful morning after a beautiful night -giving Dem her wedding present, playing guitar late into the night and a kiss just then that stopped time. Tom Carne had no right to enter their honeymoon and no right to stop Dem frolicking in the water as god made her. No sadness on this good day. Ross pulled off the rest of his clothes and made up the space between them. He approached her, cock bobbling about like a second personality as he walked. Dem's grin strengthened. There was cause for lust in viewing nudity and there was beauty in it too but wasn't there also something a bit ridiculous about the male anatomy, freed from garments? Hairy and primal and a bit silly looking, particularly with Ross' smile growing apace. She giggled a little as Dem fit herself in his arms. He held her close and kissed her neck, stubbly chin and hairy chest warm against her as he said, "It's just us, Dem. Just you and me," And a gentle caress down her back, smoothing the fabric of her blouse with his hand, telegraphed what he wanted her to know. That he knew Dem was self conscious over her back. Knew that this was a maiden voyage for her in a way, and one they could embark upon together in a secret pact. That she was beautiful and here, away from the rest of the world, Ross and Dem's world, she could be entirely free. Dem hid her eyes at his neck, smiling too, nodding agreement. Ross understood her and he was so natural in his acceptance of all of these things; her childhood, her lack of concern over her scars earlier in the excitement of their new intimacy, being struck by concern over them and cowed now. Ross knew her and cared for her, loved her and wanted to share their life together. He accepted her scars and all. She stepped apart and pulled off her blouse with a timid smile that strengthened in tandem with Ross'. Devested of their clothes Ross led Dem by the hand to the water, sedate and serene, like being announced at a ball. Then, in an instant, the serenity of their calm approach became the happy plunge of two without a care in the world, whooping warning of their entrance into the water to the new morning with an almighty splash.

They swam and enjoyed the water. They christened a new day. A new way of being. Ross and Dem had an understanding, of themselves and their land. Nampara Cove was so far removed from neighbouring lands Ross frequently swam nude in the summer months long before Dem arrived, afterwards too, but early enough in the morning she would have been none the wiser.* Now, when they were left to their own devices, the Paynters away, with so much private land, Ross and Dem allowed themselves the freedom to come and go undressed if they chose out of doors at the back of the house and, occasionally, tryst in the orchard at the front of the house in various stages of furtive undress in daylight hours. Dem enjoyed this freedom. It very much felt like freedom. She and Ross made no mention of her scars to anyone and when she covered up, in company on the beach, Ross made no suggestion it was for anything other than her own choice and modesty and utterly ordinary. She felt she had ally, though they never spoke a word about Pa's beatings, ever, since the first night they met. In Ross' company, just the two of them at Nampara, Dem felt as if there was nothing between her and the outer world, felt at peace in the world, felt love and so very happy to give it to Ross in return be it lustful, or playful, or simply going from point A to point B as two together, feeling contented.

They left the water after a great deal of play and laughter. They shook out their hair in a cascade of wet drops. They went about, in the altogether, in the glory of the morning sun and were happy in it. Ross and Dem walked back to the house carrying their clothes heaped in their arms as Garrick caught up to them from his own amble and went inside. They washed up in a brisk shower together; half expediency, half soapy play and naughtiness. Dry and tidy, save for damp hair, they made a slow way to breakfast as Ross made tea and they tried to decide what to break their fast with. The day lay ahead of them with nothing in particular to do. After they drank tea and ate a light repast of toast and jam, Ross and Dem plucked a haphazard picnic of a punnet of strawberries and a packet of Custard Creams from the larder, a bottle of lemonade from the refrigerator, a woven rug from the stillroom to sit upon and went back out into the warm sunshine to spend a lazy mid morning in the shade of the apple trees. A warm breeze stirred the leaves overhead and the trees in the woods beyond. The lumps and bumps of an uneven ground beneath the rug could be felt but were not such discomfort to need to cease laying close upon it in near motionless bliss, kissing languorous kisses as either a continuation of their breakfast or as an amuse-bouche to precede an elevenses of soft fruits and biscuits but soon became another nap. Sleep crept over them both slowly enough that neither Ross nor Dem knew who went unconscious first, the weight of their limbs grew heavy in their embrace, the kiss grew softer and dreamier and then dissolved into slumber as the air and the sun and the sounds of a quiet day disappeared along with Garrick's footfall in the grass as he came nearer. Garrick sniffed about the rug and Mummy, sniffed about the male who was well and truly her mate now. Mummy marked him with enough scent these days as to leave no doubt. They were fast asleep so Garrick returned to the Long Field to entertain himself until they woke once more.

*as mentioned in Chapter Eighteen Dem, when she was out early with Garrick, did occasionally see Ross swimming nude in the Cove when he was otherwise unware, from the same higher vantage point where he saw Joshua when he was little.

Chapter Text

"Doubt it's seaworthy," mused Ross, knowing full well it had been, years ago.

In midst of one of their aimless, pleasant honeymoon rambles, walking upon Nampara land in an unhurried enjoyment of the weather and the charms of their spouse, Ross and Dem came upon the old dingy that was left in the mouth of one of the caves along the cove. Drawn up so far into its cave with the oars hidden where a casual vagrant could not find them it was sufficiently set out of sight, out of mind all these long years. Ross could recall riding in it once or twice as a very young child and seeing Papa row Mama in it back then; two small figures on the water as Ross and Claude were being minded on the shore by Jud, running about thoughtless and barefoot on Hendrawna sands under his watchful eye, ostensibly helping him bring away useful driftwood from the beach to the dunes where it was left to dry more thoroughly but mostly just playing. Ross couldn't remember why the boat was not used more often. When he was older Ross used to take it out himself sometimes, when Papa was out wherever he was on weekends. The bottom of the boat was gritty looking and careworn but no obvious breaches in the hull were visible. "My parents had taken us out on the water in this boat a couple times, Claude and me" said Ross. He frowned a little, thinking, saying, "I don't recall why that stopped." He thought about it. "I suppose it is a bit small, better for two," mused Ross. "Papa took Mama out in this more often than all of us together." Dem peered at the floor of the boat, gritty with sand and old washes of tide mark evaporation in grimy gradations of hue, the dirt left behind where water had been. Dem had ridden on ferries now and again, seen the harbour docked boats of modest means, fishermen, or the wealthy, sleek well tended crafts; one could not live in Cornwall without boats around you. Dem was enchanted by this old boat, bigger than the one she'd lain in as Ophelia in the school play. That had been an old boat with its seat slats removed, left on the stage propped up on an incline, facing the audience so they could see her inside, like looking at an open coffin, and hurricane lanterns making a ghostly sort light around all so laying there looking dead, with paper flowers all round her, was said to be very convincing looking. What would it be like to ride in a boat? Dem looked at the boat, this way and that. Ross watched Dem, this way and that. Dem looked enchanted over this boring old boat. Had she ever been on the water properly? Had Dem ever been in a boat? Playing Ophelia didn't count... A smile crept upon Ross' face. "Do you want to try it?" he asked. "What?!" squeaked Dem. "Ride in it, if it's sound, I mean," warned Ross. Just because it was unused didn't meant a breach in the hull might not be present. "If it is seaworthy we could try it out. I used to take it out, now and again, before I first left for London. What if we rowed round to Sawle?" said Ross. Dem's mouth fell open. "Really?!" They shared a grin. "We could, if you wanted to," he shrugged. "Out on the sea?! To Sawle!?" asked Dem excitedly. "You think I can't row you that far myself?!" teased Ross. Dem approved of this idea with a giggle and a hop in her step that brought to mind her younger self, bouncing about proud over conquering the Hard Day's Night chord. She was almost dancing. Dem pranced around the boat and back to his side. Ross caught her in an embrace that shivered between them in her happy laughter and tamed itself down into standing still in a pleasant snuggle. "Yes, let's!" crowed Dem speaking at his chest with her head nestled under his chin. Ross took a restoring sniff at Dem's hair, a private aroma of shampoo fragrance and her own skin that he had come to enjoy in their sleeping close, be it day or night in the scheduleless flow of days that saw them make love at all hours and fall asleep nearly anywhere; the grass, their bed... "It is low tide at eleven," he said. "And the moon's up. If it all goes pear shaped we'll have light to see by and less chance of having to swim for our lives!" said Ross with a snort of laughter.

They returned to the house, returned to bed, woke at six in the evening and enjoyed their supper in the shadowy parlour with the evening stealing into and about the room. A bit of guitar playing afterwards, outside, with Garrick curled up contented by Dem's feet. Ross joked that his arms might not be up to the task of strumming after the boat rowing. Then, Ross in jeans and a tee shirt, a slim metal flask of brandy in his back pocket. Dem in a tee shirt and long drab skirt that could bear a wetting, carrying four saffron cakes; two for each of them, small from being baked in the fairy cake tin, wrapped up in a cloth napkin. Both wore their worn out and old 'beach only' plimsolls and they set off for Nampara Cove shortly after nine. Dem was very animated. Giggly. The hop in her step had returned in Dem's glee. And why not? Her first boatride in a small craft... Ross could not work up the same excitement over this trip but he could and did find pleasure in her pleasure. It was a warm still evening with the three-quarter moon already high. In Nampara Cove they dragged their small boat from the cave where it was kept, across the pale firm sand to the sea's edge. For Ross the old remembered visions of Papa bring Mama ashore from the boat afterwards, not letting her step into the water but carrying Mama bodily to dry land. Ross resolved to do precisely this when they returned. For Dem this was a new adventure and the sort of romantic pastime one only read about in books, two in a rowboat on a calm August night. And there was a moon. Demelza got in and Ross pushed the boat through the fringe of whispering surf and jumped in as it floated. The sea was very calm to-night and the light craft was quite steady as he pulled towards the open sea. Seaworthy indeed. Some folk felt sick on boats and Dem wondered if she might but she didn't feel queasy at all. She loved the buoyant feeling of sitting upon the water in a boat. The water was dark but lights in the distance, boats in the distance, starlight... Sparkles danced on the surface in pretty freckles of light and the rich movement of the boat oars through water, the rocking rhythm of the oars at their rowlocks was a mystical noise. She loved watching Ross, content with a visible ease over knowing what he was doing with the oars. Not straining or fumbling about trying to remember what to do. He was just rowing them along in a proper boat, little different to hopping in the car! How many other interesting things did Ross know how to do like this? Surprises like this? Dem smiled. Her wedding ring glinted on her finger in the moonlight. She had the rest of her life to find out. Demelza sat in the stern and watched Ross and looked about her and dipped a hand over the gunnel to feel the water trickling between her fingers. "It's strange that we didn't go boating more often," Ross thought aloud as he fell into the muscle memory and rhythm of his arms wielding the oars in his hands and felt his effort move them along, the pleasant stretch in his back and arms as he reunited with this old thing. He rowed this very boat, out on this water, when Papa wasn't home to know. Young and left to his own devices at thirteen, fourteen. He often made it out to St. Ann's back then. Ross rowed at school sometimes and at Hyde Park now and again, took Elizabeth out upon the Serpentine in a hired boat once, as one does in London. He hadn't taken Dem out on the water in London. Maybe they should have done after the wedding but they had such fun in the studio (and so much fun being newly wed) there had not really been time. Someday, thought Ross.

They skirted the high bleak cliffs between Nampara Cove and Sawle Bay, and the jutting rocks stood in sharp silhouette against the moonlit sky. The water sucked and slithered about the base of the cliffs. They passed two inlets which were inaccessible except by boat at any tide, being surrounded by steep cliffs. All this was as familiar to Ross as the shape of his own hand, but Demelza had never seen it. They passed the Queen Rock, where a number of good ships had come to grief, and then rounded a promontory into Sawle.

Ross and Demelza ate their cakes and took a sip of brandy from the same flask and talked in lowered voices of what they saw. Night upon the water, a confetti of lit widows and outdoor lights, tiny carlights zipping away, picking out the edges of the land against the sky, so different to day. Other boats in the distance. Party boats strung with coloured lights with music only just heard as they made their circuit bringing jolly holidaymakers towards the harbour. Majestic cliffs. The stars. The moon. Two people in love. "Home now?" Ross said presently. "A small bit longer," Demelza suggested. "The night is so warm," said Dem looking up at the stars. "It is grand to be 'ere." He dipped his oars gently and straightened the bows of the boat towards the gentle lift and fall of the sea. They had drifted a touch and it rather pleased him to get this detached view. Not just as a squire or his father's son or even a Cornishman. Ross was a newly minted husband and he had rowed his wife upon their portion of the sea. So pleased by a new experience Dem dropped an aitch. It was a sign that she was very happy, to relax her guard on her Hempel trained speech and just be Dem. The untrammelled joy of Dem being Dem. It cheered him. He felt cheery. Ross found, quite to his surprise, that he was happy. Not merely happy in Demelza's happiness but in himself. He couldn't think why. The condition just existed within him. Dem watched him grin in the light of the three quarter moon. She grinned back. "Home?" asked Dem, warmly. Ross nodded. Something in this moment hindered his reply. His feet and jeans were wet and clammy, as they always were taking the boat out. He remembered that feeling from years ago but it seemed different somehow now. When Ross asked if she was ready to go back it didn't strike him as anything other than its query but Dem asking "Home?" touched him. "Yes," said Ross. "We can cut a bit of time skirting the coves rather than back out to the cliffs."

She sat watching the dark line where the shadow of the land ended and the glinting water began. She would have preferred to be out there. Ross said that the moon would light their way on the water but this portion was dark. The shadow had lengthened greatly since they came out, and she would have rather made a wide circuit to keep within the friendly light of the moon. She stared into the deep darkness of one of the deserted coves they were passing. To these places no man ever came. They were desolate and cold. She could picture unholy things living there, spirits of the dead, things come out of the sea; creepy crawlies and ghosts. She shivered and turned away. "Are you cold?" asked Ross. "Take another nip of brandy." he suggested, nodding towards the flask lying on the emptied napkin, near her on the seat. "No." She shook her head, a little embarrassed to have worked herself into a bit of a fright. Even now the light grew better on the sea as they were closer to home. "No. Not cold, Ross." In a few minutes they were turning into Nampara Cove. The boat slipped through the ripples at the edge and grounded in the sand. He got out and as she made to follow caught her about the waist and carried her to dry land. He kissed her before he put her down. When the boat was drawn up into its cave and the oars hidden where a casual vagrant could not find them he rejoined her where she was waiting just above high-water mark. For a while neither of them made a move and they watched the moon set. As it neared the water it began to grow misshapen and discoloured like an overripe blood orange squeezed between sea and sky. The silver sword across the sea became tarnished and shrank until it was gone and only the old moon remained, bloated and dark, sinking into the mists. Then without words they turned, walked across the sand and shingle, crossed the stream at the steppingstones and walked together hand in hand the half mile to the house. She was quite silent. He had never done what he had done to-night, brought her out on the water, lifted her out of the boat like a princess. Ross had carried her over the threshold in London, kissed her then too. This was something different. If carrying her into the flat made her Mrs. Poldark, carrying her in from the sea had made her the woman who shared all of this, Nampara Cove was hers now too. When Prudie would tell her she was 'Mistress o the 'ouse' it just seemed a quaint and old fashioned concept but Dem understood herself to be that woman now, Ross' woman. She was a lady, wife of Ross Poldark, whose ancestry in these parts went back hundreds of years. The children of her body would be called Poldark, with a good home, money enough, a root, a good one; better than being a Luggy, upbringing and a legacy of culture. Her heart swelled at the thought. Ross carried her ashore like a proper lady and sealed it with a kiss. Walking back to the house Dem knew him to be closer to her to-night than he had ever been before. For the very first time they were on a level. They were a man and a woman, with no inequality between them. She was older than her years and he younger; and they walked home hand in hand through the slanting shadows of the new darkness. The only sound all the way home was the bubbling of the stream beside their path. The house greeted them whitely. Moths fluttered away to the stars and the trees stood silent and black. Ross' feet were wet and sandy and as they kicked off their grotty plimsolls before entering he chuckled over being out of practice for he certainly felt the effort in his arms now that all was done. Dem stood back and watched his wet footprints on the floor as he walked into the house. The front door creaked as they closed it. Ross looked to Dem and looked to the dark demarcation where his jeans had gotten wet from the knee down, to his feet, wiggling his grit speckled toes before extending his hand to her and they climbed the stairs with the air of conspirators. Stealing past the parlor where Garrick was already asleep. When they reached their room they were laughing breathlessly at the thought of waking the dog with such gentle noises. Laughing at the fact that they were going to have sand in their sheets because neither of them had the patience to delay their lusts for the sake of Ross washing his feet first. Dem pulled the tee shirt off and shook out her hair. Oh yes, she was lovely to-night. He put his arms about her, his face still boyish in its laughter, and she laughed back at him, her mouth and teeth gleaming moist. Ross knew what it was to kiss Dem. He knew what it was to feel her mouth around him and lose his mind within that moist wet place, shining now in her smile. His wife... At that his smile faded and he kissed her. "Ross," she said. "Dear Ross." Faces close, they murmured their talk. Quietly, privately. Dem's admiration was quite like a sigh and his declaration Ross spoke with seriousness and deep feeling. "I love you," he said. Dem blinked the most endearing wide eyed adoration at his words and she could only kiss him in return. Soft and an 'I love you' just as much as if Dem had spoken aloud. They moved toward the bed in a slow ambulation that stopped and started within the kiss they shared; a soul kiss and steps like a dance as their mouths joined in a purr of pleasure and they'd halt briefly to explore it more, step again closer and closer to the bed. Dem's breasts were already free and Ross pulled her closer to him by her hips. He started to kiss her neck and feel their chests touch. Dem pulled at his shirt and he released her to help remove it. He felt it in his arms as he pulled it over his head, felt that he had rowed out to Sawle and back and brought his wife ashore in his arms. Rather than tiredness the strain Ross felt in his muscles was provocative. It energized him. Coming across the old boat today hadn't excited him as it had Dem. It simply amused him to give Dem a ride in a rowboat he'd half forgotten about. But coming in just now, striding through the surf with Dem in his arms, light hearted and relaxed as they entered the house, all the other lonely times he found solace on the water as a grumpy teenager coalesced into a victory tonight and it energized him. It was their turn now, him and Dem. Nampara was theirs and they would grow a family again. It was inevitable. They'd been fucking each other relentlessly. Ross started chuckling again and Dem's beaming smile as she pressed him to the bed and started undoing his damp jeans as he lay on his back, lay on their bed, her fingers brushing at his groin as she released him made him happy. He closed his eyes upon that smile as the bed felt soft and the wet denim was dragged down away from his legs in a determined haste. It wasn't just lust, it wasn't just love either. Ross lay on the bed and in the small strand of time before he and Dem rollicked themselves into a breezy and delightful shag, with sand from the cove on his shins and feet, Ross realized this was the first time he'd come home from rowing like that happy. He brought Dem out on the water. They ate their cakes and shared brandy from his flask. The stars were bright. And there was a moon. He brought Dem to shore the way Papa used to carry Mama. Ross came back in from being on the water but unlike every earlier time in his younger days Ross entered Nampara and was not alone, not lonely. The house was not empty. Dem was laughing and smiling with him and he entered the house, all wet shins and sandy feet, knowing they were going upstairs to make love. He thought,

'I am happy. Something for the time has sloughed off from me; and I have full and true companionship with a person, with my wife -strange thought- something that can't be bought and can't be enticed. Something I didn't know I needed, something I couldn't have known when I brought Dem home on the way back from the midnight chemist's... I'm... Happy... Keep this mood, hold on to it. No slipping back...'

Chapter Text

Ross woke in the night. Dem lay warm at his side, still asleep. The sheets felt grainy under his legs, his feet. In the morning they would have to strip the bed and wash the sheets free of the sand they'd brought in. It was just him and Dem in the house until the Paynters came back. He lay on his back and stared up into the canopy of the bed. He had brought Dem out of the water and carried her to land, their land, just as Ross remembered seeing Papa carrying Mama from their rowboat. Ross had been small but he recalled that moment; Mama smiling prettily at Papa, settling her down where it was dry and then her scanning forward to see and then wave to her two little boys running to greet their parents' return. Papa's face held satisfaction, in his wife, his place in this world. Ross so often felt the opposite, uneasy and not certain over his place in this mad spinning ball of which Papa and now he owned a portion of its land and ocean. 'He and Dem', thought Ross. He brought Dem ashore to their land, their home. Ross smiled his own satisfaction in the dark. He and Dem came ashore like his parents had. Would it be he and Dem watching their young children running towards them through the marram grass? Ross turned his head to watch Dem sleeping. How, in a mere four years, had that kid become his wife? How had the 'boy' Ross brought off the street one night, clutching tightly to the dog asleep downstairs at this moment, become the woman beside him now? His West Country Girl. His woman.

Ross rolled to his side, let his fingertips play along her side, running his hand down her hip, drifting it back up her thigh and letting it rest at her bum. Dem hemmed a sigh but did not wake. Ross' caress pleasing her even in her sleep.

It's a disgrace...

She may not even be twelve! I think he just gives out that she's twelve, she looks far too young!

What's the world coming to...?

Who were they to think such things about him, those women tittering in the shops behind him as if Ross should be hard of hearing? These gossips who judged him so harshly when Dem came to stay. How many of them thought the worst of Ross because they knew Papa's reputation at first hand? How many of those bitchy gossips were on their back, having it off with Ross' father, and then dared to point fingers at him? Why should they be seen as pillars of virtue, gatekeepers of the community?

I seen you two in the paper! Good on you, lad! Many 'appy returns!

Ross thought of the cab driver who drove them back to the flat after a dinner out, barely disguising his leer in his approval of Ross securing himself a young girl, as if marrying Dem should be a cynical exercise of taking advantage of her age. The London newspapers tittered their judgement over them, from staid papers of record like The Times to the scandal mongers like News Of The World and those in between. Ross chose London to wed, wanting to spare their happy event from the inevitable intrusion of homegrown tattle over them in Cornwall, to stave off the gossip of the county. It was not to be. Now talk and just about everyone's two pence over Ross and Dem's marriage had been thrown forward throughout the country at this moment. Life seemed to be teaching him that the satisfaction of most appetites carried in them the seeds of frustration, that it was the common delusion of all men to imagine otherwise. But wasn't it was their delusion? The fools and gossips too suspicious to understand the circumstances, thought Ross.

We'd look a right pair o' villains if Dem be livin' 'ere all this time an' end up in trouble! 'Alf them gossips be thinkin' ee bin carryin' on wi' 'er all this time, under our noses like we be blind! Or worse, tha we don't care a curse for the gurl!

He knew that marrying Dem had stamped him for ever as a crank and an eccentric at best, or a villain, with Joshua Poldark's poor reputation at his back, who took advantage of an underage girl and covered his supposed dirty deeds with the fig leaf of marrying Dem 'the minute she turned legal' at worst but what he had not realized was how quickly almost all society is prepared to accept an accomplished fact. Most people who recognized them in their London honeymoon comings and goings were congratulatory, quick to offer happy admiration and good wishes towards them. That was real, not the sniffy judgement of newspaper writers. Ross let his hand rest at her lower back, gazed at Dem's face in the dim light. Perhaps only Ross could discern the difference; Dem was a sixteen year old, surely, but no longer a girl... Perhaps only Ross saw the woman. She had already grown into his life and left behind those younger days; young enough then Ross had to shorten the strap on his Strat to its shortest length to get it to fit her when she first played through an amplifier. He'd watched her play and sing, recording alongside him and Dwight and Ned in EMI's studios, out on his arm at the clubs, sleeping in his bed. He'd lived alongside loneliness so frequently it was hard to credit the difference at first but it was a difference; Dem had never even entered Ross' bedroom at the flat until she became his bride. She slept down the hall. Subtle the difference. She was with him and yet apart before, in the house but separate. Now they had cleaved and become of one flesh. His wife.

Dem woke in stages, feeling grainy specks of sand strewn upon the soft sheets beneath them as she curled a bit closer to Ross. They had brought a bit of sand in on themselves from the Cove into bed. Ross' arm was around her and he began stroking her lower back gently, gently enough to seep into her unconscious and lift her into wakefulness. His hand felt warm, resting at her bum. She opened her eyes and watched Ross watch her. Her husband. Dem met his gaze, waited. Ross' look of interest didn't seem dreamy or unfocused, he had woken before her. He had been watching her already, that much was clear. Ross could be very closed mouthed and pensive. She lived alongside him long enough to understand he was deep in his thoughts and they coalesced their energy upon her. Dem had a friend in Ross and now he was her husband. This man who plucked her out of the gutter as a concerned grownup, shared his life with her and become the husband who brought her out of the sea into this house this evening. Our house... Theirs. Ross looked at her. The lightness of the giggly romp they'd enjoyed before they fell asleep had passed. Ross' look of concentration made his face seem almost cross but there was a spark that shone wonder in his gaze too. Ross was admiring her and serious in it. Seeing her. Dem could understand his testing near quizzical gaze boring through her because Demelza felt it too sometimes.

This is tyranny, Dem! Why can't a man have it off with his woman in his own home without everyone else putting in their two pence about it?!

The strangeness of feeling everything was the same and then the differences coming down around them, emotions like a tonne of bricks, and then become what was again. When Ross referred to her as 'his woman' with such casual ease the next morning, directly after stopping Elizabeth from taking away the cornflower Dem tucked behind his ear, she just about felt her heart swell five times its size. There hadn't been any suggestion it could have been possible and then it just was... Physical love had come over them both that quickly and was absorbed at once. He and she had entered the house tonight as the friendly companions Ross and Dem had always been and brought that playful friendliness into bed with them, chuckling and laughing, the moment became light and silly between them once they got home but the energy circled back to a more potent and heightened seriousness now, in the dead of night. Now she was the wife Ross brought over the threshold of the seashore, brought her back to dry Nampara land in his arms and kissed her beneath the three quarter moon glowing over Nampara Cove. They were the same people but life had changed around them. Now they were man and wife anew, as if the spur of the moment idea to go out on the water in an old rowboat had unwittingly snared Ross and Dem into some sort of pagan ritual. She had grown into Ross' life in a different way. The matter of fact daytime Demelza, his friend and the girl folk here about so often disregarded as his plaything of passion, his lover, had changed again. Dem was his wife. Ross was her husband. They were Poldarks. The commonplace of going out on the water; something they'd never done together and a pastime Ross had so often partaken of alone in his youth had fused Ross and Dem further together. Somehow the sense that Ross' decision to make the union legal and permanent, his honouring her with his name had been absorbed by them both readily. They knew themselves to be translated into Mr. and Mrs. Ross Poldark by registry wedding with a cake to prove it. But the fact landowners passed their inheritance through their issue, their heirs, their children, seemed to thwack them between the eyes tonight. Entering the flat, entering Nampara as man and wife when they got back from London was a quaint romanticism. Entering shore let new significance and import enter the frame. All that was religious and mystic and official about their wedding seemed to make itself more pronounced. Ross and Dem had been good friends for four years -it was not a stranger from the sea Ross brought ashore in his arms, but the sense being Poldarks had struck them both in that moment; Ross as a son and her friend, Dem as his friend and a child of this place. Something bigger than themselves subsumed Ross and Dem, the continuation of this place, their place here, the place their children would come to know and carry forward into the future as the next link in a chain first forged in the 1500s as French D'Arque became Cornish Poldarque and then anglicized further into their own name; Poldark. That they were family, both in themselves as a couple and as the nucleus of however many children they might have grew between Ross and Dem as a new joy as the other rights of their union hovered anew, as the scent of their bed warmed and perfumed by their earlier lovemaking bloomed around them. So many senses awoke at once in them both, the glint in their eyes in the dark.

It was not Ross' intention to wake Demelza but wake she did, rolling further forward on her hip in his direction sleepily, glancing one of her shins against his and then opening her eyes. A glint of light shone in Dem's eyes as she looked at him, stared and then they closed again as her lips parted. Ross could see this in the brief moment of his own study of Dem's face ending as he closed his eyes too, advancing his face to meet hers. A quiet kiss. A beginning. Dem brought her hand to Ross' chest as she felt his tongue quicken in her mouth and the kiss become deeper. Dem was learning how to meet and share these pleasures, to widen her own mouth in tandem, to crave the taste of Ross' and feel her head sink back into the pillow as he advanced and she acquiesced, lips parted, tongues jousting. Ross felt her hand at his chest, a cool sensation of Dem's fingertips pass over his nipple as one might read braille and bring a sudden shock of pleasure singing through his body and then disappeared. He hmmphed approval and Dem plucked at him again in the acknowledgement that she could tell Ross liked that. He sighed and rolled over her. She closed her eyes upon Ross' lips on her neck, her face, a growing rhythm as he stroked her thigh with one hand, cradled Dem's head with the other, his fingers sinking into her hair like a comb. Another kiss. His nose pressed near hers, his hand leaving her hip to capture new ground in a shared landscape of flesh.

"Ahh!"

Ross was exploring her with his fingers, soft and wet, slick. Dem's gasp as this occurred wound the kiss down from its ardent intensity and brought new import to their gaze. They watched each others eyes as Ross slipped his forefinger round and about, coaxing new pleasure in an irresistible trance. Dem stared at Ross, feeling him touching her, knowing it to be similar yet not the same in the ways Dem touched herself in her bed the dark of night, in swiftly snatched moments after school in her room of an afternoon, in the bath down the hall. Secrets. Knowing these secrets were shared between her and Ross now. Moaning softly, watching Ross staring at her as she began to writhe in the growing success of his aims, both of them caught in a spell; her growing sensations, his fascination watching her. They both knew he wielded and plied his wife's body with the benefit of more experience than Dem possessed in the art of love, honed in dalliances with women who caught his attention after the show was over, held his interest after the gig was done, departed and disappeared afterward, on to the next show... They knew Dem was learning from and responding to cumulative knowledge imparted from being a grown man at a schoolgirl's side; gentleman enough when she first arrived to halt trying to bathe directly, gave her privacy once he found out this little kid sleeping rough was a girl, respectful of her in a brotherly care and responsibility for her, always. Demelza was a child then. She was a woman now. And, at his side, her own powers were growing apace. She opened herself to pleasure and gave it in equal measure for all it was new. Ross lay on his back laughing as Dem made him the recipient of her attentions earlier.

"Ahhhhh..."

He let his finger enter her and Dem seemed to melt beneath him at the mattress. Her body tensed at first from the arcing spike of Ross bringing her pleasure and softening at the bed as he continued. Ross' cock stiffened in eager response to her cries. Sliding his finger inside, feeling Dem's body. Sliding out, watching her react as he stroked a rhymic back and forth, in and out, so wet. It was only the barest movement to remove his hand, mount her and feel the welcome of his wife's body slipping around him and the soft landing of his groin against hers as a second sort of kiss. A wet kiss and moist imprint of a different sort of lips, one he could touch and taste, lick and view, pierce and ride in their private moments. They lived these private moments together. Man and wife.

Through the quiet of a Nampara night, as Garrick slept in the parlor, as the sea beyond the house licked the shore in its eternal washing and rewashing of sea upon sand where the water met the land, the master and mistress of this place made love. Two children of Nampara, in their different ways, bound by similarities. Two who grew in this place, suffered both scorn and suspicion. Two who learned to love music and the land around them. Two who lived side by side and then fused a new relationship together. A love. A relationship that permitted the sort of physical intimacy a wedding ring makes blameless even after the deed was done far before formal vows were taken. As they built new pinnacles of joy to cherish, tried to best previous attempts, so struck by lust, and then be astonished by the new victories they achieved in it. To make and remake love and wake to greet each new day going forward as Poldarks.