Chapter Text
Elizabeth:
“Elizabeth,” said Mrs Chynoweth “fetch me my wrap from upstairs will you? I am a little chilly.”
“Yes Mother,” answering automatically; praying her knees did not knock together as rose from the dinner table. Holding her head high, Elizabeth glided silently across the floor aware of every set of eyes burning into her ram rod straight back as she groped for the oak banister. Ross’s eyes like smouldering embers burning, following her every step as she climbed the stairs. The steady murmur of conversation reached upstairs, not clear enough for to hear, but having sat at the dining table of Trenwith for many weeks now Elizabeth could guess the course of conversation, Charles Poldark seated at the top of the table speaking to her father and Dr Choake of the growing discontent in the country, taxes, wages, politics and war.
Where that was dammed wrap her mother needed so suddenly. Perhaps if she hid upstairs for the rest of the night she would not be missed. Perhaps she could disappear down the servant’s stairs and escape back to the safety of Cusgarne. Perhaps Ross would come and find her. He seemed eager to be alone with her, his eyes feasting upon her face as he whispered how opportune she was here tonight of all nights. Before Verity descended upon him; a plate piled ushering him into a seat between Aunt Agatha and your father. Finding the wrap and her courage; Elizabeth descended the stairs to hear Ross exclaim..
“To be married, well and to whom-.”
As her feet touched the last step of the stairs, Mrs Chenynowth proudly replied.
‘To my daughter, to Elizabeth,’
There was silence. Verity was there at her side whispering, did she need a drink. No, no…please no. Walking very carefully you came over to your mother.
“Your wrap; mama.”
“We are very happy,’ your mother continued ‘that our ancient families are to be united. Very happy and very proud; I am sure Ross…’ she prattled on heedless of the sudden change of temperature in the room. Ross had put down his knife, now picked it up once more continuing with his meal. The only outward sign of his distress; the vein in his neck began to throb. Her father now joined the conversation, heartily attempting to turn the topic to port. She could have wept in thanks. Ross turned his attention to Dr Choake. Francis faced flushed after a small hesitation came quickly round the table and grasped Elizabeth’s trembling hand.
The colour of the eyes under the same heavy lids was the only mark of cousinship. In their school days they had been christened “the fair Poldark and the dark Poldark”. They had always been friends, which was surprising, since their fathers had not. As he pressed a glass into her hand, she assessed her groom to be. Compact, slim and neat with the fresh carefree vigour of a youth that had yet to know hardship, Francis was a handsome youth. He had been everything a courteous youth should be, fevered declarations of love, tokens and attention showered upon her that there had been no thought of not accepting his proposal when it came.
And yet…as Ross walked through Trenwith Hall like he had never been away all thought of the heady summer courtship vanished like a morning mist. The carefree easiness of youth had gone, in its place was a man who had known what is was to be in danger , to pit his strength against another man in something other than games or horseplay. It was in the set of his shoulders as he assessed the company of the room, the cold hard stare as he listened to all his uncle had to say, the warmth of his tone as he addressed his elderly aunt Agatha or as he looked up at Verity and smiled. Gone was the easy smile of a carefree youth, in its place stood the hardened bloodied solider?
“I mustn’t stop. I called here only for a few minutes and to rest my horse, which is lame.” Verity instantly protesting, Francis to a lesser degree, his father a half -hearted mumble, Elizabeth’s mother for once silent. Ross did as he was urged, drinking three glasses. With the fourth he got to his feet.
“To Elizabeth,’ he said slowly pinning her with an unrelenting stare ‘and to Francis…May they find happiness together.’ Picking up his hat and refusing the loan of a fresh horse for the last three miles, he waited at the door for Tabb to bring round his mare. Francis opened the door, allowing the wind to blow in a few spots of rain as he went out to see if Tabb had come. Her mother distracted by Verity, Elizabeth seized the opportunity.
As she reached his side, he turned to her and said. “I hope my mistimed resurrection hasn’t cast a cloud over your evening.”
“Ross, what can you think of me.”
“Two years is a long time, isn’t it? Too long perhaps?”
“I’m so happy that you’re back, Ross. I had feared; we had all feared…”
“Elizabeth,’ once more her mother called. ‘ Take care the night air does not catch you.”
“No, Mama…Ross.” Elizabeth had gone very white but for all her delicate breeding he could not stop himself, it had to come out now.
“It isn’t very pretty to have been made a fool of by one’s owns feelings. To take childish promises and build a castle out of them? D’you remember that day in your father’s garden when you slipped away to meet me in the summerhouse?
‘You forget yourself,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t fair to Francis to speak as you are.’
“No, I don’t. I remember you.”
Alarmed at her own feelings aware Francis could reappear at any moment, the situation had to be saved somehow.
“Ross, ours was a childish attachment. I was very fond of you and still am…but word came that you were dead and I met Francis.”
Darkness had fallen by now, the light from indoors threw a shaft across her face as Francis came running back across the driveway. “Do not forget, we expect you back here soon. Verity will want to see more of you. If my dearest fiancé can spare the time we will ride over tomorrow.”
Ross’s face was not easy to read, it was impossible to tell; in the last half an hour he suffered more than any injury that befell him in in the war. The wind and rain answered Francis and the clatter of hoofs as the mare side stepped down the drive.