Infidelity (a Poldark fanfiction)

Demelza

With her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding violently in her chest, Demelza Poldark watched her husband read the letter from his first love.

Knowing that Elizabeth was to marry George Warleggan, his worst enemy, would change things for Ross forever, she had no doubt. But which direction the change would go she couldn't yet say. What she wanted was for Ross to look up from the letter, to drop it to the floor, and to let Elizabeth go from his heart once and for all, declaring that he was Demelza's and Demelza's alone, for now and for always.

But she didn't dare to dream of that. Instead, the best she could hope for was that she could convince him to take the night to consider before he acted—and even that seemed more than was likely.

As he read, his face tightened, lines of pain standing out on it.

He looked up, seeming only half-aware of their familiar home, of her standing next to him. He was thinking. That was good. Then he turned and, without looking at her, said, "I'm going to Trenwith."

"No, Ross. Not tonight." She put herself in front of him quickly. Above all, she must not let him go. Not now. Not tonight. Tomorrow, when his head was clear. Tomorrow when it was daylight and the folk at Trenwith were up and doing.

"I must speak with Elizabeth."

"Ross, you can't."

He stared at her, surprised and displeased that she should be giving him orders. Holding up the letter, he asked, "Do you know what this is?"

Later, she would tell herself that she should have pretended not to know. Perhaps if she had, they could have shared the shock. But she was too agitated herself, too disappointed that his own family should not be enough for him, that she let him see that she had known Elizabeth was to marry George Warleggan.

There was betrayal in his look now, as the truth sank in. "You knew."

"I heard rumors."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"And have my head snapped off?"

"This ... thing," he shook the letter, his voice breaking in the extremity of his distress, "must be stopped."

He moved toward the door, and Demelza stepped in front of him again. "How will you stop it? You can't stop it!"

"Perhaps you don't want me to stop it."

"Perhaps I don't! And especially not like this." If only Elizabeth could be safely married off, out of Ross's reach for good. Maybe then Demelza would have a chance at all of him, mind and body and soul.

Ross glared at her, his face hard, his eyes more closed-off and distant than she had ever seen them. "Like what?" he demanded.

"Whatever it is you intend."

"How do you know what I intend?"

"How do I know anything, Ross? How do I know you?" She fairly spat the words at him. "And yet I think I do."

"Please get out of my way." He was coldly civil, as though she was still nothing but his scullery maid.

"Ross. Don't go there tonight. Wait until tomorrow." If he left, she would lose him. She felt it.

"Please get out of my way," he said again, doggedly. He was barely holding on to his temper, and part of her feared what he might do if she didn't.

She had never before been afraid of Ross, not this way. Barely holding back tears of grief and frustration, she stepped aside.

Ross passed her without another word, another look ... another thought. Demelza Poldark no longer existed in his mind. Only Elizabeth Poldark did, only the dark depths of the longing for her that he had never been able to put aside. Perhaps that he had never wanted to put aside.