Unsatisfied Love (A Poldark Fanfiction).

Anne - Ross Returns.

-Anne's POV -

The talking in the dining room ceases almost immediately as the knock at the door gets louder. My brother, Francis, rises from his chair slowly, and holds a hand behind himself as if to shield Elizabeth Chynoweth, his betrothed, from whatever is beyond the door. It is dark outside, so who on earth would call at this time of night?

My father makes no effort to stop Francis from rising, and watches as my brother approaches the door apprehensively. Everyone has gone white, I notice, and for a moment I start to imagine awful things. Who on earth is at the door? I look towards my older sister Verity, who takes my clammy hands and squeezes them tight.

"Nothing to be afraid of", she says shakily as all eyes in the room turn to her. She smiles weakly and nods as if to reassure us all. "It's probably just another late guest! And if not, I'm sure my brother will shoo him away without any hassle." People in the hall nod their heads in agreement.

"Yes, quite right, Verity, quite right", George Warleggan murmurs as people began to pick up their knives and forks again. However, the tension in the room hasn't eased, and everyone still watches Francis attentively as he walks into the hallway. "It's a stormy night tonight, I suppose some have simply lost their way!"

I glance at Elizabeth, who is as white as a sheet. Verity does the same, and gives her a reassuring smile. "Come now, Elizabeth, it's quite alright." Elizabeth offers a fleeting smile in return.

"By God, it can't be!" Francis' voice comes loudly from the hallway. "Cousin Ross, what in the Heavens are you doing here?"

I pull my hands from Verity's comforting clasp and stand up too quickly. I almost spill the wine onto the white tablecloth, and Mrs Chynoweth gives me a discerning frown. Father pushes back his chair and rises from his seat, as does Verity who has gone red with excitement. "Ross?" Father asks, as we push past the tables and rush into the hallway.

There, Francis holds a man in a hug, and as we run into the hallway the man looks up at us. "Ross?" Verity asks, unsure, as we slowly edge closer to him. But there is no doubt about it – there, in the arms of my brother – is my cousin Ross Poldark, who looks exhausted and has a distinct scar running down the side of his face. He grins up at us and pulls away from Francis, taking Verity and I's hands in his.

"Hello, cousins."