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“What can I do?” Ross asked sheepishly. Verity was the one true friend among his relatives and the relative he loved the most. He hated seeing her eyes red from crying and her words racked with sorrow.

Verity was in love, and for her sake, Ross was glad. But after having just heard the tirade from his Uncle Charles and Francis’s insipid talk about honor and family standing, he did not know what he could do about it. But he was willing to try, completely.

They had spent much of their childhood together. Ross was two years older than Verity and she was his first real playmate. They knew the paths and meadows between Trenwith and Nampara having traversed them continuously in all seasons, journeying back and forth to meet. That’s how Verity had found Ross so quickly to ask him the greatest of favors, knowing that he would never have attended, but for his love for his cousin.

Of course Ross would be her escort to the Assembly as well as make the case to her father why she should attend as his. They were the odd couple together. Verity could keep him apprised of the who’s who and what had happened in society during his absence and he could dutifully defer to any potential suitors – he was her cousin, of course, but more like her brother, even more than Francis was.

Charles and Lydia Poldark’s first son was stillborn. Grace Poldark was newly pregnant with Ross when the sad event occurred. Joshua Poldark barely survived the worry of Grace’s pregnancy, and after Ross was born healthy, Joshua was a little relieved when it appeared that Grace had lost the ability to conceive. Thus, Ross was an only child.

Charles and Lydia went on to have Verity, but Charles wanted an heir. Not even a year after Verity’s birth, Lydia had Francis, and Charles had his wish. But due to the loss of her first born son, Lydia was exceedingly over-protective of Francis. The child was never left alone, attended to by governesses who Lydia oversaw with a manic sternness. The young Verity was kept from the baby to prevent spread of any fever or disease. Charles was less interested in the early child rearing and waited to educate his son in the family business when he grew older. In the meantime, Francis was forming quite the petulant personality. His tantrums were met with multiple attempts and offers to soothe him.

Verity, a good natured child, was all but forgotten by the governesses. She would slip away and meet Ross in the meadow and play games and wander the moors looking for flowers, animals and birds.   Ross taught her to ride, taught her to swim, and she taught him to love his cousins as if they were his own siblings. Although she was sure that Ross loved her more than Francis.

When Ross’s mother Grace died of fever, he was 12. Verity was 10. She knew he was suffering, but was not sure how to comfort him. Francis was only 9 and an immature nine-year-old at that, and hardly noticed the passing of his aunt.   Ross had no governess to tend to him, only Prudie. Verity disliked Prudie immensely and tried to provide distractions for Ross and keep his mind on lighter things. When Verity’s mother Lydia died five years later, she turned to Ross rather than her own family. Ross knew what this was like; he would not turn her away.

Verity’s world had crashed down around her. Her plans to attend a young ladies’ academy in Paris were over. She needed to step up and become the lady of the house. She was now to serve as the Mistress of Trenwith, hostess for social occasions and escort of her father. But this role would be short lived if Charles were to remarry, and of course never be permanent even if he did not. Francis would one day be Master of Trenwith and his eventual bride would supplant Verity.

Charles saw no reason to remarry, as he had a daughter to tend to him and servants to run his household. Verity’s future was, more or less, not hers to decide. Neither Charles nor Francis had any lenience for Verity’s grief. Ross found it incredibly unfair how the loss of his mother was personally painful, but not life altering, while the loss of his Aunt Lydia left Verity a totally different person altogether.

Ross had met Verity many nights in the meadow as she cried and cried. He let her cry on his shoulder, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her weeping, her sob-racked breathing. Her agony was the first time Ross was himself pained by the heartache of another. He empathized and sympathized and took her suffering into his heart. Few other gentlemen received such an education or awareness of this moral attribute.

And to see Verity again in such a state was painful. Despite his recent heartaches, hers struck a nerve deep inside. You of all people know what that feels like, Verity had pleaded. “Yes,” Ross whispered. He inhaled and debated with himself for an instant. “Oh Ver, if it were anyone else,”  but he knew the answer. He exhaled. “Yes.” Decision made. Such snap decisions seemed to rule Ross’s life now, and were due to his experiences on the battlefields and in the woods of Virginia.

“What can I do?”

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Ross watched as Francis dropped the chalk and walked away, leaving Elizabeth in front of the crowd of the newly unemployed and continuously hungry. Elizabeth looked slightly horrified by Francis’s wordless desertion of both her and his former employees. She saw that Ross and Demelza were watching from the edge of the assembly, and averted her eyes. She turned to follow Francis, and though she swallowed hard, she walked away with dignity.

Ross and Demelza watched her hurry by, and then Ross turned over his shoulder to see Elizabeth continue on alone. Ross turned back toward his beloved, the woman who now meant more to him than his besotted obsession with the woman who just passed them both ever did. With words unspoken, Demelza gave him leave to go after Elizabeth in this terrible time. Demelza knew what Ross had to do, whether she gave her consent or not. He was Ross.

Ross caught up to the other woman and called out “Elizabeth.” She turned at the sound of her name issuing from his lips. In her youth, she found the uttering of her name by him to be pure music. Now she was in agony hearing what she knew was not, and would never, be hers. She stopped and allowed him to close the gap between them.

“What can I do?” Ross asked with sad eyes.

Elizabeth was stunned for the second time in so few moments. Ross was here for her when Francis was not.

“Not once has Francis asked me that question.”

“He’s afraid to.”

Elizabeth felt the torment of knowing that Ross was right, that Francis was, in most ways, incapable of standing up to harsh realities and allowed others to attend to his shortcomings. She knew Charles was mostly at fault, but she could not let Francis escape blame. His fear of Charles, his own mother’s fear of losing Francis, the fear of not measuring up to Ross, all had their impact on Francis and were all torments he allowed to warp his ego.

“You must know that this is never what he intended for you.” Ross was ever the gentleman, making excuses for the ever struggling Francis.

“And yet it is how it is.” Elizabeth was pragmatic. Her fate was wrought by her husband, who did not consider her in the slightest when opting to gamble or stray from his vows. But here she was, accepting it and planning to make concessions to accommodate her husband’s failings. She could still impress Ross with her poise and grace.

Grace. His mother’s name. And Elizabeth’s asset.

It was her grace that Ross most admired. He had said she was born to be admired, and so she was. He admired her now for not wanting to feel sorry for herself and not allowing herself to give up when Francis clearly had.

Ross had compared Demelza to Elizabeth at Julia’s christening party and declared them both having something the other lacked. Demelza had strength accented by gentleness, and was becoming more graceful with time. And now Elizabeth was becoming stronger despite her upbringing to be the delicate flower on a man’s arm.

Demelza had joined them during Elizabeth’s discourse. Elizabeth had nothing to be ashamed of. She found herself admiring Demelza for her strength in facing the taunts of Ruth Treneglos, her own father’s disapproval, and her flourishing in the simpler life at Nampara. She respected the way Ross and Demelza walked as equals, the way he defended her without treating her like she could not stand on her own, and that the love between the two of them was more real than that between herself and Francis and possibly anyone else she knew.

She envied Demelza’s strength. It gave Elizabeth courage that she could find it in herself. With Ross’s offer of support there would also be Demelza. The two were one.  And though the “what might have been” grieved her now more than ever before, she would not let it distract her from moving forward.  Ross had put their past behind him and still was there to not let her fail. She had to do everything within her power to not rely on Ross for her salvation.

What Elizabeth did not comprehend was that it had been her that saved Ross from the hell of war and was his sole purpose in returning to Cornwall. Finding her betrothed to Francis nearly destroyed him, but he would not have found his current happiness if he had never returned. He owed her his life. The least he could ask was “What can I do?”

Chapter Text

A knot had formed in Dwight’s throat. His heart had fallen upon rendering the diagnosis and now he had to continue adding to the agony.

“Dear God.” Ross muttered barely above a whisper. “Surely …” his voice cracked.

“There is no reliable treatment.” Dwight saw the horror cloud Ross’s desperate eyes.

“What can I do?” Ross begged his friend for some effort he could undertake, some battle he could fight, some labor he could endure to see his wife and child survive the night.

“Pray.”

Dwight’s answer was a knife wound to Ross. He was not a religious man. He had not been to church since Julia’s christening, and before that, his Uncle’s funeral. He was unsure if there was a god. But if this is the only option given by a doctor to a desperate man, what choice did Ross have?

Ross began to bargain. If I do not leave her side, if I take back all of the things I said about her interfering with Verity and Blamey, if I swear to make peace with Francis, … if, if, if. Ross watched as Demelza’s fever raged and her brow furrowed and glistened with beads of sweat.

A very small consolation was that Dwight was attending Julia, who was remarkably quiet. Ross had to be by Demelza’s side as that is what he swore as part of their wedding vows. In sickness and in health they pledged. Julia was his daughter, but he was only a small part of her short life to date.   He was enamored with her, but did not carry her on his hip all day, feed her, change her, or bathe her. Having her be tended by a doctor was the best thing a father could do when the child’s mother was herself overcome.

The night wore on, the fever burned, but Demelza fought. She had the strength and the spirit and the will to live to be with those she loved. Even in her delirium of terrible visions and thoughts, she rebelled. Ross held Demelza’s hand as she thrashed and suffered. “I cannot let go or she will fear I have left her.”

Julia, however, was not a fighter. She was passive; a happy baby who had not known want for anything in her short life with a devoted mother who had help in tending to her and an adoring father who could not help smiling in her presence. Now Julia was in the grips of an assault on her very life force. The infection raged through her tiny body, which had never experienced sickness and had no defenses.

Dwight could tell that without his patient’s own resistance coming to her aid, Julia was not long for this world. With every passing minute, her pulse grew weaker, her breathing slower, and her fever higher. Even were she to survive, she would not grow to be a normal child. The fever would have ravaged her brain and led to a dulling of her senses. The prospects were both horrible and terrifying. But he had to leave Julia to attend to Demelza, who was hallucinating. She needed to drink something, but neither Ross nor Dwight was able to get through to her.

“There’s little more I can do.” Dwight backed away and then turned with a jerk.

“She’s failing. She’s failing. Oh dear god …” Dwight ran, but Ross could not let go.

When Dwight returned to check on Julia, his worst fears were realized. He returned from across the hall to the master bedchamber to alert Ross, his leaden footfall across the threshold announcing his presence. Ross’s breathing stopped as he waited for his friend to speak. But Dwight could not. The tears forming in his eyes spoke volumes to Ross.

Ross rushed to his daughter and scooped her limp body into his arms. Dwight could not bear to watch.

“Forgive me. I cannot save her.” The doctor had to retreat and tend to the other patient.

Ross barely acknowledged his departure. “I will stay with her.” His daughter’s head dropped on his shoulder as he stroked the soaking wet back that could not sweat enough to burn off this cursed fever. “I would not have her be afraid.” Julia’s pulse slowed to a stop. A tear fell across Ross’s cheek. And he was left holding all that remained of the one good thing he brought into this world, now a memory.

After returning Julia’s body to her cot and covering her with a blanket, he removed the embroidered band from around her wrist. He had to return to Demelza. She was calling for Julia in her delirious state. Ross sat next to the bed fingering the embroidered letters on the band of silk and attempted to absorb the enormity of what was happening. Julia was dead. Demelza could herself die. And if she did not, Ross would have to break Demelza’s heart as his heart was now breaking.   If she did not die. Ross looked at his wife of over eighteen months and could not fathom a life without her. If she died, he would die of a broken heart. There would be no reason to live. No future. No family. The ache and betrayal of losing Elizabeth paled in comparison to what he now felt and what he would feel if his sweet Demelza did not return to him.

Life was more precious and loss more painful. This proved his words prophetic. Demelza risked her life to attend to Elizabeth, Francis and Geoffrey Charles. She and Ross now were paying the ultimate sacrifice in return. It was a generous, kindhearted act and what he would have done. Despite how the loss cut him, with Demelza’s love, he could endure. Ross would have to endure and more to be there for Demelza. He was sickened by the thought of having to tell Demelza of the loss of their precious child, but what if she did not rally? All light would go out and his future would be worthless. But he could not face that, yet.

Ross knew what he had to do while his wife struggled to survive. He had to attend to his daughter’s burial. “What I must do is be strong. For Demelza, for Julia’s memory, and for my own sanity.”

What can I do? Ask yourself. For love, for friendship, for that which is right. It is what Ross would do.