A/N: This is a birthday fic for PiperHolmes. Since Poldark is your latest obsession, my dear, I thought I'd dabble in it for your birthday present. This is set as an extension of a small portion of part 3 your very own fic, For Better or For Worse, where you indicated, "They had been to town to pick out the material for Demelza to make a dress ..." and "He had been uncertain of the color, when he purchased the fabric, not sure how the deep maroon would work with her fiery mane ..." Happy birthday my friend! I hope you have a wonderful day.

I'm terribly unfamiliar with the Cornish dialect from the late 1700s, but I did try to emulate how Demelza spoke as Piper had done in her fic. I hope I don't offend anyone with my attempt.

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine alone.

Disclaimer: Not mine. All Poldark characters belong to Winston Graham, Debbie Horsfield, Mammoth Screen, and BBC. I'm just playing with them.

A Shade of Maroon

"You're coming to town with me this morning," said Ross, looking up at Demelza while she was clearing the breakfast dishes. It was the Monday after the first banns had been read.

"Sur?" She looked quizzically at her new fiancé. "Why?"

"Because you require a new dress for the wedding," he said after swallowing the last of his tea. "And what did I tell you to call me now?"

"Sorry, Ross." His given name still a foreign word on her tongue. "Why'd 'ee need me?" She continued to load the dirty dishes into the bucket for the pump outside. Ross had always returned from town with fabric in the past.

"Because I don't know what colours you like and thought you'd want to choose the fabric for your wedding dress." He rose from the table and headed to the library. "We will leave once I have my papers. Tell Prudie to wash the dishes."

Demelza was about to complain about the litany of tasks for today but thought better of it before taking the dish bucket outside. She took a breath and sighed before heading to the pump. Prudie will not like being told to do Demelza's own work especially once she found out the reason.

The ride into town was pleasant. She sang while Ross held her closer to him than in the past, and when no one was about, took to placing an occasional discreet kiss upon her neck, which made her smile all the more. While he was discussing banking matters with Pascoe, Demelza went to make purchases that she had originally asked him to make. They had agreed to meet in front of Trelask's when they were finished with their tasks. She waited no more than ten minutes before she spied him coming down the street.

When he was only a few steps away, he saw her packages in hand and smiled. "I see both of us have been productive this morning. Shall we?" He then opened the store's door for her to enter.

Once inside, a tall, muscular man behind the counter looked at Ross and glanced at Demelza when they entered the empty store. He knew who his customer was and it certainly wasn't the serving wench. "How may I help you, Mr. Poldark?" Poldarks had been patronized Trelask's for generations. It was where Ross had purchased fabrics for Demelza's previous dresses and where he and Demelza had purchased her cloak several months before.

"We've come in search of fabric for a dress," said Ross, feigning pleasantries. After his bumbling of the court assize for Jim, he was working hard to refrain from a retort for the proprietor who ignored his bride-to-be. "We'd like to see something a little finer than the previous bolts I'd purchased though it still ought to be serviceable."

"Of course, sir." Mr. Trelask smiled and came around the counter. "This way." He gestured the direction with his hand. "Any particular colour you had in mind?"

Ross looked at Demelza, who was unsure she should speak until he nodded at her reassuringly.

"Red, please." she said barely above a whisper. She had always wanted a red dress.

"Pardon?" asked Mr. Trelask, turning to look at his customers.

"Go on," Ross encouraged.

Demelza cleared her throat. "Red, please."

Ross could not entirely hide his surprise at her choice. Though he would not have picked any shade of red for her, this was her wedding dress and she ought to have input.

The proprietor pulled out several bolts of red fabric all in different shades from the piles. "This what you're looking for?"

Ross looked at Demelza, who nodded, and another customer came into the shop. Mr. Trelask waved to her and then turned back to them. "Excuse me while I tend to my other customer. Take your time. Bring the one you like up to the front for cutting. If you have any questions, just call."

"Thank you," said Ross. He then turned to look at the fabrics in front of them. One was red with large printed designs that it was more the colour of the patterns than any shade of red. Another was a rich burgundy velvet that would be much too hot for late summer. A third was of a suitable colour but the fabric was almost sheer and hence unserviceable. This narrowed the selection to just two others. One was a bright red, and the other, a shade of maroon. Looking at her, he asked, "What do you think, Demelza?" That was when he noticed that the other customer in the store was Mrs. Teague.

"I think these two are the only suitable ones," the young woman said, pointing to the two fabrics to which he had also narrowed his selection.

"Please take your time in choosing," said Ross, daring only a quick peek to where the woman he loathed was conferring with the proprietor. "Don't look but Mrs. Teague is up front and I have no wish to speak to her today."

Unfortunately, Demelza chose to lift her head to peek just when Mrs. Teague was looking their way after Mr. Trelask went to fetch what she wanted.

"Mr. Poldark!" The older woman walked toward the back of the store.

"Mrs. Teague," said Ross, looking up and plastering a smile on his face and Demelza followed suit shortly after.

"What brings you to Trelask's?" asked the nosy woman when she closed in on the pair. "I wasn't aware you frequented this establishment?"

Glancing at his fiancée, Ross replied, "We came to purchase some fabric for Demelza."

"My Ruth was just finishing her new dress and required extra lace," said Mrs. Teague, looking up and down the serving wench, who awkwardly curtseyed and smiled nervously at the older woman. "I wasn't aware that you purchased fineries for your servants."

"It's for a dress, Mrs. Teague," said Ross, giving Ruth's mother a challenging look. Unable to temper his irritation at this latest assault, he continued, "Or would you prefer that Demelza went about her duties in her birthday clothes?"

Before the matron could provide a shocked response, Mr. Trelask called out. "I have your lace, Mrs. Teague."

The older woman gave the couple each a look of indignation mixed with disgust and walked quickly back to the front of the store. She could not make her purchase fast enough and was soon huffing out of the establishment.

Ross watched the whole thing in silent amusement. Turning back to his financée, he asked pleasantly, "Have you made your choice?"

Demelza lovingly fingered the maroon cloth before looking at him. A war raged within her. She loved the colour. "This one 'ere is two times the cost of the 'ther."

"But it is what you want," stated Ross, seeing the silent request in her eyes, though privately still not entirely certain that the colour worked with her fiery mane.

"It's too much," she pleaded.

He picked up the bolt. "But not too much for my bride's wedding dress."

"Thank 'ee, Sur—Ross." She corrected herself before smiling at him and they walked up to the front with the fabric so that Mr. Trelask could cut it for purchase.

In the days that followed, Demelza spent every spare waking moment, often by candlelight, working on her wedding dress. Since the Paynters strongly disapproved of the marriage, they worked even less than they normally did. With Jim in Bodmin Gaol, in order to complete just the minimal tasks, Demelza often woke before dawn and only went to bed when Ross dragged her there. She finally finished her last stitch the morning of the big day, much to her satisfaction.

Ross had mentioned at breakfast that morning that she was to ready herself for late in the afternoon when he returned from the mine. The household would then walk to the church together, a half hour away by foot, and he had even offered to wash the dishes himself.

"'ee can't do that," she had said indignantly. "That's my chore."

"And who's going to finish the dress?" he had asked mischievously. "Would you like me to help?"

"No!" She had responded immediately. She had seen some articles of clothing he had mended in the war and she had no desire to ruin her beautiful dress with his handiwork.

"Then make Prudie wash them while you finish. I will tell her so on my way out." He had grinned. "Be ready when I return from the mine."

"Yes, Sur." She had folded the arms in front of her. When he had given her a look, she had amended, "Ross."

"That's my girl." He had said, picking up his mining gear. Leaning in, he had kissed her before he had departed.

Looking at the finished dress in front of her, she smiled contentedly. It was more than she had ever dreamed as a young'un. While she had not expected nor asked for this turn of events, she was looking forward to becoming Mrs. Ross Poldark.

A/N2: Happy Birthday, PiperHolmes! Hope my attempt at the Cornish dialect was sufficient to pass muster. Thank you for reading!