Chapter 205: Chapter Two Hundred And Four
For the next two hours, the quiet textile shop was filled with the low, busy sounds of work.
Allen brought out several small folders containing records of his previous suppliers from the southern provinces. Camilla sat with him at the desk, doing thorough checks on the quality of the fabrics, the quantity of the threads, the shipping times, and the transportation logistics.
She asked Allen very practical, difficult questions that surprised him.
"The southern provinces are currently experiencing heavy rains," Camilla noted, pointing to a map of the trade routes. "If we transport the silk by open carriage, the water will completely ruin the fabric before it even reaches the capital. We must order the suppliers to wrap the shipments in thick, waxed canvas sheets to protect them from the rain."
Allen’s eyes widened in admiration. He quickly wrote the instruction down.
"That is a brilliant idea, sister-in-law," Allen said, his pen scratching rapidly against the paper. "I did not think about the weather. You are very observant."
"If we lose the fabric, we lose the gold, Allen," Camilla replied practically. "In business, you must always prepare for the worst possible scenario."
They continued sorting through the shipping records, discussing the cargo prices and the border taxes. Because of the King’s recent lockdown, the border controls were much tighter, and they had to ensure their delivery wagons possessed the proper royal permits to avoid being delayed at the northern ridge.
As they worked, the quiet atmosphere inside the shop grew very peaceful. Allen was focused on his ledger, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration.
Camilla sat back in her chair. She looked at his polite features and his neat brown hair. A question that had been quiet in her mind for a while suddenly became very loud. She could not help herself. She wanted to know the truth about her husband’s strange family title.
"Allen?" Camilla called out softly.
Allen stopped writing. He slowly raised his head from his ledger and looked at her.
"Mmmm?" Allen answered politely, tilting his head slightly.
Camilla leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes were serious and curious.
"The Benson family has a duchy, right?" Camilla asked directly.
Allen nodded his head slowly. "Yes, sister-in-law. The Benson family has a very old respected duchy in the kingdom. Our grandfather, Duke Carson, holds the title."
Camilla continued her question, keeping her voice low.
"Then... why is Damon addressed as ’My Lord’ instead of ’Your Grace’?" Camilla asked, her delicate eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "His father was the eldest son. His father was the true heir to the duchy before he passed away. Since his father is dead, Damon is supposed to be the next in line to inherit the name of Duke. He should be addressed with the royal title of ’Your Grace’. But everyone, including the servants and the palace guards, only calls him ’My Lord’ or ’General’."
Allen’s expression slowly changed. The busy, professional look on his face vanished, replaced by a deep shadow of sadness and quiet regret. He lowered his quill onto the desk.
He let out a long, quiet sigh. He looked down at his hands for a brief second before looking back into her eyes.
"That is a very long, painful history, sister-in-law," Allen explained softly. Her question had clearly brought up memories of a dark time.
He rested his forearms on the desk, leaning closer to her.
"From what I heard from the older servants," Allen began, his voice dropping into a quiet, serious whisper, "when Damon’s parents died in that terrible carriage accident, Damon was only ten years old. He was just a small, defenseless child."
Camilla listened closely, her mind picturing the small, lonely boy in the black mourning coat.
"At that exact same time," Allen continued, his face grim, "our grandfather, Duke Carson, was so heartbroken by the loss of his eldest son that his body failed him. He fell into a deep, unresponsive state. He lay in a bed upstairs, completely unable to speak or move."
Allen gripped his hands together tightly.
"Because grandfather was unconscious, young Damon had absolutely no one to back him up," Allen said sadly. "He had no protection in his own home. The extended family—including my stepmother, Lady Adeline, and my father—wanted the duchy and the family fortune for themselves. They saw the ten-year-old boy as a temporary obstacle."
Camilla’s eyes narrowed. "They tried to get rid of him?"
"Yes," Allen nodded firmly, his voice full of deep shame for his family’s actions. "During that dark year, Damon suffered many, many assassination attempts inside the mansion. People tried to poison his food. People tried to push him down the stairs. They tried to make his death look like a tragic accident, just like his parents."
Allen let out a shaky breath.
"For a child, he managed to stay alive through terrifying survival instincts," Allen whispered. "He learned to sleep with a sharp dagger under his pillow. He stopped eating any food that was not prepared by his personal maid. He became cold, silent, and suspicious of every single person who walked near him."
Camilla felt a sharp, tight pinch in her chest. She finally understood why Damon was so incredibly paranoid and why he had built such thick, impenetrable walls around his heart. He had grown up in a house of monsters, fighting for his life every single day.
"When grandfather eventually woke up from his unresponsive state a year later," Allen continued, his voice soft, "the extended family was furious. They knew their chance to steal the title was gone. But Damon... Damon did something that shocked everyone."
"What did he do?" Camilla asked.
"He walked into grandfather’s room," Allen said. "He specifically told grandfather that he did not want to be the Duke anymore. He refused the title completely. He said the Benson name carried too much responsibility. He told grandfather he wanted to leave the main family estate permanently."
Allen looked out the window, his eyes full of respect for his cousin’s strength.
"Damon packed his small bag," Allen explained. "He moved out of the main estate and stayed in one of the smaller, empty Benson mansions in the capital city—the very same house you live in now. He stayed there alone with Mrs. Ida, who was the only maid who had protected him and taken care of him during the dark times. He grew up there, away from the family, eventually joining the army to build his own power, while my father became the Duke."
Allen turned his face back to Camilla.
"That is why he is only called ’My Lord’ or ’General’," Allen finished his explanation. "He chose to throw the noble title of Duke away to protect his own life and his sanity. He did not want anything to do with the main estate until grandfather forced him to return for the ball."
Camilla stood perfectly still.
The silence inside the textile shop was deafening. She looked down at the wooden table.
"So that is the truth," Camilla thought to herself, her internal mind completely silent and deeply moved by the tragic story.
She thought about Damon’s grumpy, stubborn attitude. She thought about his bare, scarred back and his paranoid dark eyes. He had suffered so much pain, loss, and betrayal before he was even a man. And yet, he had managed to survive, build a massive army, and become the most powerful General in the entire kingdom.
"He is not just a tyrant," Camilla thought, a soft, rare wave of sympathy touching her heart. "He is a survivor. He threw away a duchy just to find a piece of peace."
She slowly raised her head. She looked at Allen.
"Okay," Camilla spoke softly, offering him a quiet, understanding nod of her head. "I get it now. Thank you for telling me the truth, Allen."
"Of course, sister-in-law," Allen replied, offering her a polite, gentle smile. "I think you deserve to know the man you married. He is difficult, but his life was never easy."
Camilla nodded again. "Let us return to the logistics. We still have to finalize the cargo shipments."
"Yes, My Lady," Allen said, picking his pen back up to work.
