"Damnation!" an exclamation pierced the quiet of the house as Ross Poldark, the young master of Nampara and an offspring of the ancient Cornwall family, stumbled over the rug in the darkened parlor. He drunk so much his vision was doubled, but at least he was still standing on his feet. Almost. On cue his tall frame started to list to the side and he braced himself on the nearby side table - a delicate and old piece - that creaked under the pressure of his weight.

"Do you need anything, Sir?"

Ross turned at the sound of the soft voice. In the dark he vaguely discerned the smallish silhouette of the servant.

"Where is everyone?" he asked unpleasantly.

"Abed already. It is late now..." the voice trailed as if sensing the master's stormy mood.

"And why are you still awake?"

The young teen shrugged indifferently. Immediately Ross felt, despite his intoxication, the same wave of irritation that rose in him whenever he dealt with the boy. Ross could not tell why, could not explain the genesis of this most implacable dislike that he harbored for the young servant. The boy was always quiet and quick to provide any service required; always tried to avoid being seen and never looked Ross directly in the eye. Yet, Ross never felt comfortable around the boy.

No one ever caused him to have such an immediate discomfort. Well, aside from George Warleggan and the tongue-wagging ladies of the county. But the boy was a mere servant. Young, woefully thin, with always messy ginger hair that fell over his face. A few times when Ross was particularly grouchy the boy shot him sideways glances and his eyes were blue-green; piercing and changeable like the sea. And that voice - clear and soft, almost like girl's... Something wasn't right with the boy. Something did not make sense to Ross.

Not that he spent too much time on those notions.

"Take off my boots," Ross fell onto the settee and put his foot on the nearby tea table. "Come on, pull harder. What am I feeding you for if you can't even pull one boot off? For all the time you spend in the kitchen..." Ross talked sarcastically as he watched the young boy struggle with the boot. Ross bend his other leg and gave the boy a slight nudge. It wasn't that strong, but the boy stumbled and fell with the boot in his hands. The same thing happened with the other boot.

"Anything else, Sir?" the boy put the boots near settee and was looking at Ross from under the fringe.

"Clean those boots. I want them to shine when morning comes."

"Yes, Sir," the boy grabbed the boots and went to the door.

Ross got up, but almost immediately his head spun and he listed again, nearly crashing into the tea table. He caught his balance and irritably barked, "Danny!"

"Yes, Sir," the boy turned at the door.

"Come here. Drop those boots. You can do them later," the boy approached him and Ross used his bony shoulder as a walking aid. The boy was thin and much shorter than him,* but it was better than nothing. Slowly they made their way to the master bedroom. Ross was shedding his clothes as he stumbled towards the bed.

"Can I go now, Sir?" Ross only nodded and fell into the bed face down.

His awakening was painful even in the relative semi-darkness of the room. Ross carefully lifted himself, trying to avoid any jerky moves. Every heartbeat was echoed by a thunderous pounding in his head and he was thirsty as if he's been to a desert. He looked around the room bleary, taking stock of things. His clothes were collected and on the side table stood a jug of water and a glass. Gratefully Ross filled the glass and drank the cold water in one long gulp. He almost immediately felt better.

Habitually, he washed up and got dressed, not paying attention to his movements. As the haze of intoxication lifted, his usual gloomy mood set in. It has been a while since he came back to find his father has died, his estate in ruins, his servants all gone, save for the two lazy drunks. And the young Danny, who was a new addition to the household. If one were to believe Jud and Prudie, his father felt particularly sorry for the young orphan boy and took him in. At the time Ross cared little about it as he was nursing his own grief over loss of a parent and a burden of disappointed love. His own remaining family seemingly conspired against him with cousin Francis marrying his sweetheart and uncle wishing him to leave Cornwall. Except for Verity. She was still on his side.

But he had ties to this place, to this home, to the people in the village. Cornwall was in his blood and while he was disillusioned in the rest of the Poldarks and the gentle folks, his people - the miners, tenant's children he grew up with, even his household servants - were loyal to him and he could not fail them. The usual stubbornness and pride that caused him so much trouble, raised their heads and he dug his heels and persisted. Now he could honestly say that he was not cut out for melancholy, but the early disappointments and war made him less inclined to laugh and trust people.

Especially women. Although, it wasn't as if there were many who tried to assail the thorny heart of Ross Poldark. Perhaps it was another reason that made him resent Elizabeth so much. Everyone knew of their mutual regard. Everyone. So much so that everyone expected some spectacular drama between him, Elizabeth and Francis, when Ross came back from the dead so unexpectedly. He was hurt by the marriage, but even he could understand that there wasn't a betrayal. Everyone thought him dead; he could hardly expect a young woman as beautiful as Elizabeth - as desirable as her - to remain unmarried. What hurt him was perhaps his own foolish expectations. Three years that he held on to her image in the mundane horror that was war... She was a dream and an escape. The war was awful, the death and suffering - unnecessary and pointless. His presence there only made him sympathetic to the American cause. And he desperately wanted to remember, to hope, that in Cornwall life would be different. Peaceful, purposeful, with Elizabeth by his side...

Instead he found himself nearly destitute and at odds with that way of life that he thought would be peaceful. Ironically, he found it stifling and the gentry to be out of touch with the very people, who ensured their elevated status. He knew that his attitude was too liberal and put him at odds with most people of his rank, but as usual he stubbornly did not care. In that he saw the wisdom of Elizabeth's choice. She was better off with someone like Francis. She would not have fared well being his wife.

He was only now climbing out of the financial hole that his father's demise left him in. The Wheal Leisure was progressing well and they were close to striking copper. The news must have traveled throughout the county as he hosted a few enterprising ladies with daughters of marriageable age. He supposed the ancient name of Poldark still held some attraction.

Still, occasionally, the mood would strike him, especially when he was crossed by George Warleggan or reminded of what could have been, and he would try and forget his troubles for a little bit. Last night, he and Francis imbibed too much and Ross could only feel marginally better because he managed to leave the tavern and travel to Nampara without falling off the horse. He didn't know if Francis was able to leave, considering the state he's been in. Not that Ross was much better - he ended up needing help of that boy to get to the bed. He still could not figure out what made his father take the boy in. Danny was skinny and not very strong. But at least he was not lazy: Ross saw that his boots were clean and shined and left standing by the door.

Once again he wondered what made him dislike the boy so much. But he shook off these thoughts as he had the mine to inspect and make productive. He went downstairs, finding the house empty again, but at least the food was on the table. Plentiful, if cold; and he enjoyed his belated breakfast in silence.

Outside he went to the stables only to find Danny minding horses and his relative equilibrium was disturbed again. Why was the boy always under foot? The uncharitable thought lingered and he stayed his tongue only because he knew it to be untrue. How could the boy have known that Ross would go to the stables? Still, when he made himself known his voice was gruff.

"Danny! Saddle Suleiman. I am going to Wheal Leisure," the boy jumped a foot in the air, but obediently nodded his head.

"Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!"

Ross stood back and prepared to observe - with some amount of amusement - how the scrawny boy would handle the large black stallion that was temperamental at best and only listened to Ross himself. To his surprise the horse calmly followed the boy out and allowed to be harnessed. The saddle was heavy and Suleiman was a tall horse, so Danny had to climb an upturned bucket to put the saddle on horse's back. Ross still expected, with a grin of anticipation, that Suleiman would kick the boy, but his stallion stood patiently and every now and then would look at the boy as if to plead him to be faster.

"He is ready, Sir," the boy tightened the last strap and turned.

"Good job," his voice was still gruff and he eyed the saddle with suspicion. "Next time I would appreciate if you were more expedient."

"Of course, Sir. I will try, Sir," the teen said as his head dropped down.

Somehow it made Ross feel a prick of guilt and he ruffled the boy's hair as he passed him. Danny twisted to get from under Ross' hand and his eyes stared at Ross directly for a second too long.

But Ross did not notice it, shocked as he was by his own sensations. Danny's hair was soft like the spun silk and the touch made Ross' fingers tingle. These tingles travelled through him, forming a warm wave of something that made his heart throb in his chest and his cheeks warm.

Unsettled, Ross quickly mounted the horse and, grabbing the reins, sent the horse forward.

Something was happening to him. Something he could not name.

"Why ye so down?" Jinni asked when Danny came into the kitchen. "Capt'n Ross be mad at ye?"**

"I have to leave, Jinni," the boy answered in a suddenly melodic and beautiful voice.

"An' where ye go, ducky? Straigh'ta hell, tha's where! Ye uncle an' da be mad at ye wors' tha' Capt'n Ross!"

"Anywhere but here. Mr. Poldark dislikes me so. Although I don't know the reason, but life could be difficult for me here," Danny hid his face in hands and sighed deeply.

"Shh, shh... Calm ye'self," Jinni hesitantly run her hand over boy's hair and, feeling generous, pulled him to her chest. "He be marrying soon. New mistress be minding us and he be minding the mines. He be lonely al'redy. Drinkin' an' whorin'. Jus' ye wait. Tis ye fault ye got to 'im las' night. He be mad when he be drinkin'. Nes' time stay away."

"He did not yell. Not really."

"An' today? Ye been in stables, when ye'kno tha' Jimmy's job."

Danny shrugged his shoulders, "I thought I'd avoid him if I was in the stables and not at home. I did not think he'd go to Wheal Leisure after yesterday... No, I definitely have to leave. Especially if he marries," he repeated.

"Maybe ye tell 'im, huh? How long ye be hidin'?"

"I am afraid. Deathly afraid. I don't know how to even broach this subject."

"Tell 'im, like ye tol' me. Tis easy."

"'Tis easy'... I can't even imagine such a conversation and it went on long enough, he would be livid. Mad. And I am afraid that my father will find out as well," Danny shuddered delicately.

"'ow? 'ow he find out? No one knows ye here. Three year' passed," Jinni took a long look at Danny, "Ye be grown now, ducky. Soo' ye cannae hide no more."

"Jinni, you must keep my secret, please," the wide blue-green eyes shined with unshed tears. "Just a little longer, until I am old enough."

"Ye better tell Capt'n Ross. He be quick to yell, but he be kind too. He coulda help ye."

Danny smiled sadly in response, "He maybe kind, but what would he say when finds out that he was unwittingly hiding me in his house?"

"Lord, ye back to tha'!" Jinni fluttered her hands. "No one ta blame ye."

"But who would side with me? Only late Mr. Poldark did. And he couldn't do anything either. All he could do was help me hide!" tears sprang freely from the blue-green eyes. "And if Mr. Poldark finds out... No, I cannot live like this any longer."

"Stop ye cryin'. Or people be knowin' for sures. If my Jimmy be stayin 'round house, ye better tell ever'in'. He be lookin' at ye a lot. Ye don' look like tha' boy no more. Stop ye cryin'."

Danny immediately stopped crying and wiped his face clean with a towel, "You are right, of course. If Jimmy continues working around the house, then I have to come clean. Oh, I so hoped that Mr. Poldark would leave Cornwall after the wedding."

"Don' show ye face to Capt' Ross and stay away from Jimmy," Jinni ran a gentle finger over Danny's soft and pale skin. "Ye be notnin' like a boy."

"It's the habit. Everyone thinks I am a boy and they don't question it too much."

"Tell Capt'n Ross, ducky."

"And what if he sends me back?"

"I tell ye, he be kind."

"He might not have a choice, you know. I can't expect him to defy the law for someone who lied to him all this time. I just have to hold out a little longer and then, when I am of age, I shall leave," Danny sighed deeply and resolutely raised his head high.

Jinni only hugged him one more time in commiseration.

*In my mind, Demelza looks like Eleonor Tomlinson, but is shorter. In books, Ross was supposed to tower over her.

**I'm not sure how to properly write the Cornish dialect, but I wanted to show contrast between the classes.