Set before the birth of Julia, just some fluff. Hope you like. :)

"Demelza?"

She barely heard him over the splashing water as she carried a large wooden bucket inside the house. She pursed her lips as she breathed in and out heavily. A familiar twinge made its way up her back.

"Demelza! What have I said about lifting heavy things?!"

Ross' tone was indignant as he took the bucket forcefully from his wife, setting it down on the ground.

"We need wa'er for the dough, Ross! Poor Ginny's a tiny thing, she ain't got the strength to—"

"Demelza."

His eyebrows furrowed as he took her by the shoulders.

"You know there's not long to go now. Why do you insist on getting yourself into such a state?"

He grabbed her hand and led her carefully inside to the table, sitting her down and pouring her a glass of water from a tin jug. She took the cup and sipped tentatively, reaching her hand around to massage the small over her back in a habitual motion as she regulated her breathing. Ross narrowed his eyes and crouched down, taking Demelza's hand and staring keenly into her eyes.

"For God's sake, woman, you need to rest. No more housework until the baby's born. Nothing. You won't lift a finger, I won't risk it."

He cut her off as she opened her mouth to protest.

"And I won't hear a word against it. If there are things to be done, Jud and Prudie will see to them. And I will see to it personally that Ginny tends to your every need."

She opened her mouth once more, but couldn't think of anything to say. Ross had taken to being uncontrollably paranoid around here these days. The worry in his eyes made her smile. As she smiled, he smiled too, reaching up to tuck an unruly curl of fiery red behind her ear. After allowing himself a few seconds of peace, he was all business.

"Now, I must make my way back, I only came to find the papers."

He stood up and grabbed a roll of parchment, tied with a piece of frayed string.

"Wha're they, Ross? Plans for the mine?"

"Plans for what to do with the tin that comes out of it."

He didn't explain further as he kissed her and strode off outside brusquely, swinging himself up onto his waiting horse.

"Let me come wi' 'ee, Ross. I ought t—"

"What did I say?"

"But wha'll I do 'ere all day?! I ain't about the bi'ness of layin' in for confinements. I ain't got the luxury of waitin' for this baby to come, I 'as work to do, Ross!"

The corners of Ross' mouth turned up at the indignant tone of her voice and the sweet way she exclaimed his name. 'Raaaaas!' Like she was calling him to come back from afar. She was standing there in an old but clean red dress, hands behind her back, supporting her rather large bump. Her eyes squinted at the breeze as her curls flew in every direction regardless of the band tying them in place. She took pleasure in rejecting his orders for the sake of it.

"Pray, what work would that be?"

"There be things to be done for the baby, the beddin', the clothin', the 'ouse is cold as it is, ain't no matter o' Jud or Prudie helpin' when this little one be wailin' 'alf way to Penzance and—"

Ross laughed outright at the stream of consciousness exploding from her mouth.

"Don't worry about that. Go in and rest. I don't want to see you toiling when I get home."

And with that, he tugged at the reins of his horse and rode away with the papers safely tucked in the saddle. Demelza glared after him. She turned and walked back inside, sitting down, staring at the table. She wished she was occupied in some way, any way. She had been serious about what she'd said to Ross. She wanted to prepare the house and herself for the baby. She knew Ross would get them a cot and other such things, but she wanted the rest of it to be from herself. A gift from her to her child. She looked down and cupped her growing stomach carefully. She felt like she owed her child that much. It was her duty to prepare a safe, warm, loving environment for her baby, something she knew she'd never had as a child. Warm, cosy mittens, soft white linen nightgowns, sweet knitted bonnets with little ribbons to tie under her little one's angelic chin. Her hands itched to sew and make, as roughly and meanly as she had been taught by Verity. So what if the mitten turned out lumpy. She wasn't used to being idle all day, especially not in this house.

Well, she was a Poldark now. Perhaps she was entitled to prance around like a doll in fine silks and velvets. Her mind drifted to a serene vision of Elizabeth, sitting quietly in the cosy living room of the big house in her dark blue velvet gown, her slender hands reaching out to pluck the strings of the golden harp that seemed to acquiesce to her every desire. As she played, a thick, dark lock of curls fell down her neck, toying with the neckline of the pretty blue dress. Demelza's brow furrowed as her mind lingered on that dress. Despite how pretty her own dress had been at the dinner party, Elizabeth had looked more elegant. She remembered purchasing the dress the day before, seeing that red, patterned fabric behind the tailor in the shop. It had caught her eye almost immediately. She loved the bold colour and the bright pattern and had asked eagerly to see it. Verity agreed it could make a beautiful dress, and Demelza had left the shop full of glee, excited to see her very first made to order formal gown. Even Verity had commented on her characteristically large smile.

The pleasure of seeing the dress had been quickly overwhelmed by the experience of having to be laced into it. Her guts felt like they were turning inside out and every step caused her to want to vomit the contents of her stomach. She walked clumsily down the stairs, unused to the carriage that the corset forced her into. Even as she sat at the table, she remembered how jealous she'd felt of Elizabeth, able to walk and talk and laugh easily. She looked so much better than her.

A sharp kick brought her back to reality. She groaned and rubbed her tummy, soothing her baby carefully. Perhaps it was reminding her not to think so lowly of herself. She was, like she'd thought before, a Poldark now. She laughed at the thought of her being Elizabeth. Standing up, she remembered the steps Verity had taught her. One two three, one two three. She extended her arms in a ballerina like posture as she lifted the hem of her dress, pointing her toe. She could barely see her feet from where she was but she didn't care. She felt naughty, practicing her dancing while Ross was away. He'd surely stop her from 'exerting herself' if he was here. She hopped gently around the room, laughing at the absurdity of the steps.

Ginny tucked her head around the door, curious as to the cause of the laughter. She stared as she saw her mistress dancing and laughing. She laughed too and Demelza looked up. The two girls laughed uncontrollably and joined hands. Jud and Prudie made a face.

Demelza sighed. Same place, different time. She sat idly at the table as the sun faded outside, watching Ginny knead the dough. She'd been learning well.

"More wa'er, Ginny. See, it's goin' dry there, stickin' to your 'ands. Pour the wa'er on your 'and and then work the dough more. See 'ow it all falls off your 'ands like that? Then they be all clean.'

"Yes, Ma'am."

Ginny did as Demelza asked, kneading the dough well and cleaning her workspace. As she began to prepare it for baking, Demelza lit a candle on the table and reached over to feel the shirts and skirts drying by the oven door. She'd taught Ginny how to remove stubborn stains with a new soap she'd ordered from town. She was sure the flogging and scrubbing motion of the washing process would have garnered unhappy airs from Ross about her 'advanced state,' but it was nice to be out in the open nonetheless. It had been a week or two since she'd even been to the mine, let alone wandered out for something of her own choosing. As she squeezed the sleeve of her husband's shirt to check for damp, a bitter smell filled her nostrils.

"Ginny! The stew!"

The girl turned from her baking tray to see the pot of chicken stew bubbling fiercely on the stove. She picked it up with a cloth and set it aside, wafting the smell away.

"Oh, goodness, Ma'am, I didn't mean to—"

"I know, Ginny, it's not a problem. Now you must throw it out and make it 'gain, you know Mister Ross don't like nothin' burned. I'll chop the vegetables, 'ee get started on the chicken, we not be 'aving much time till he get back and you know he like his food as soon as he step in that door."

No sooner has she finished her sentence than she heard the familiar thud of his boots at the doorframe.

"Demelza! Ginny, where's Deme…."

He trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen with his arms full of packages wrapped in brown paper and tied in string, staring at the sight that greeted him. Half of his and his wife's clothes were lying by the oven, a charred smell filled the air that obviously stemmed from a large, messy pot of stew still bubbling on the stove. Ginny was hastily chopping a chicken while Demelza was halfway to murdering a potato with a blunt knife. Garrick circled the table and stopped when he saw his master, staring at him expectantly.

Ross stepped forward and emptied his arms onto the table, taking his wife's hands and pulling her towards it eagerly. She blinked and wiped her hands clean on the cloth affixed to her waist as she stared at her husband's all too familiar knowing and slightly scary smile. He had a gleam in his eye. Her own eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Wha' be in these?"

"Open it."

Demelza knew better than to argue, so took a large, soft package and opened it carefully, pushing the brown paper aside to reveal a large expanse of the softest white silk. Her eyes widened as she dared to stroke the fabric carefully. She'd never seen anything this fine, not even in her dreams. Her mind went blank as she touched it hesitantly, unsure it was even real. The gossamer thin material shone pearlescent in the candlelight.

"And these too."

Ross nudged two more packages to her. She set the silk aside reluctantly and opened the others, to reveal sheaths of delicate lace and balls of white wool, injected with two wooden knitting needles. Ross reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a length of white silken ribbon and buttons.

"Ross….I…..wha's all this?"

"The lady in the haberdashery shop assured me you would require all this. She measured it out, so I'm not to blame for a lack of resources."

Demelza stared blankly at him and he fought a smile as recognition lit up her face.

"These are for…? You 'ear that! These is all for 'ee, and 'ee'll be the finest babe in town!"

She squealed with joy and took the silk from its wrapping, draping it over her bump happily.

"Oh, look how it do suit 'ee! Look, Ginny!"

Ginny smiled wide in appreciation.

"It do look very fine, Ma'am!"

Demelza invited her to touch the fabric and she complied, talking about all types of clothing she'd seen in the shops in town that could be made with all the things present on the table. Demelza listened closely as she spoke, her smile causing her cheeks to ache.

Ross leaned back against the window sill as he watched her, swigging tiredly from a cup of whisky. Today hadn't been a good day for the investors. They argued about how to divide the profit according to who'd invested the most and accused Ross of favouring his friends. Ross had spent the majority of the afternoon pacifying them and agreeing a compromise, which, of course, none would agree to. His body ached and his throat was torn from refereeing the brawl, but his lips weren't too tired to smile as he watched Demelza carefully wrap up each item again in its packaging.

That night, he sat and watched her as she began her knitting in bed. He'd tried to convince her to start the next day when there was enough light, but she was adamant that the candlelight would suffice. He laughed as he watched her persevere with her tongue sticking out. She remembered all Verity had told her about making a solid knot and going line by line rhythmically and pulling the stitch apart gently to make sure it wasn't too tight. The needles kept slipping from her grasp and Ross could tell each line wasn't even, but whenever she completed one, she let out a long breath and marvelled happily at her work.

"Come now, love. It's late."

Finally, she relented and set her ball of wool and work in progress aside carefully. Furrowing her brow again, she moved herself gently down the bed and lay on her side, breathing out in relief as she closed her eyes and rested a hand on her stomach. The little one kicked once more and she smiled happily at the fanciful thought that it was aware she was preparing a gift for it. She didn't know how to thank Ross. Her body relaxed even further as she felt Ross snake his arm around her, resting his hand on top of hers softly, pressing his chest against her back. He buried his face in her mass of curls, breathing in and out evenly, a sure fire way to send him to sleep. As he drifted off in exhaustion, Demelza heard a quiet mumble.

"Goodnight, both of you."