Chapter 253: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Two
The evening came very quickly to the capital city. The bright, warm sun slowly dipped below the high stone walls, turning the sky into deep shades of dark blue and purple. A cool, refreshing breeze began to blow through the quiet streets.
In the large, paved courtyard of the Benson mansion, the atmosphere was peaceful.
Damon rode his horse through the open iron gates. The horseshoes clicked loudly against the clean stone pavement. Damon was feeling incredibly good. He had successfully cleared the annoying presence of Lady Isabel and his military duties were handled perfectly.
Now, he was finally home.
A very wide smile spread across Damon’s face. His dark brown eyes sparkled with happy anticipation. He could not wait to see Camilla. He wanted to hear her voice. He even looked forward to hearing her sharp, sarcastic internal thoughts.
As Damon pulled his horse to a gentle stop near the front steps of the mansion, he heard the grinding sound of wooden wheels approaching from the street.
He turned his head.
Rolling through the iron gates at the exact same time was Camilla’s carriage. It was a perfect coincidence. They had arrived home together.
Damon’s smile grew even wider. He quickly swung his leg over the saddle and stepped down onto the stone pavement. He handed the leather reins to a waiting stable hand without looking away from the carriage.
He stood tall, brushing the dust off his military coat. He waited patiently for the carriage door to open. He expected her to step out looking tired but proud of her work at the fabric store. He expected her to complain about the bumpy carriage ride in her mind.
The carriage driver climbed down from his high seat and opened the door.
Camilla slowly stepped out of the carriage.
But the moment Damon looked at her face, his wide, happy smile instantly froze.
Something was wrong.
Camilla did not look around the courtyard. She did not sigh in relief to be home. She stood straight, her shoulders stiff and rigid. Her face was blank. It was a cold, hard, unfeeling mask of stone. Her eyes, which were usually so bright and full of life, looked empty and dead.
She looked exactly like a hollow, walking shell.
Camilla slowly turned her head and saw Damon standing a few feet away.
She did not smile. She did not frown. She simply placed her hands on the fabric of her dress and lowered her body into a slow, mechanical curtsy.
"Welcome, my lord," Camilla said.
Her voice was blank. It held absolutely no emotion, no sarcasm, and no warmth. It sounded distant.
Damon was l taken aback. He felt a sudden, sharp jolt of shock hit his chest. The happy, eager feeling inside him vanished, replaced instantly by a cold wave of worry.
His wide smile dropped off his face. His dark eyebrows pulled tightly together in a frown of confusion.
He stared at her empty, blank eyes.
"Why is she acting so cold?" Damon thought to himself. His internal voice was frantic and concerned. "Did something happen to her today? Did someone insult her in the lower city? Did the business fail?"
He wanted to step forward. He wanted to reach out his hands, hold her delicate shoulders, and ask her exactly what was wrong. He wanted to comfort her.
He opened his mouth to ask her a question.
"Camilla, is everything—" Damon began to speak, his deep voice soft and gentle.
But Camilla did not let him finish his sentence. She ignored his worried tone.
"I’m going in," Camilla spoke, cutting him off smoothly. Her voice remained flat and indifferent. "I need to rest. We are having the opening tomorrow, so I need enough sleep."
She did not wait for his reply. She did not look at him again.
Damon stood frozen on the stones. He felt a sharp, bitter pain twist in his stomach. She was shutting him out entirely. But he noticed how incredibly exhausted she looked. Her skin was very pale, and her posture was too stiff.
He could not force her to talk right now, but he could still care for her.
"Have something to eat before you sleep," Damon replied. His voice was soft, offering a gentle, caring suggestion.
Camilla simply nodded her head once. It was a tiny, stiff movement.
She turned her back to him. She lifted the front of her dress and began to walk up the wide stone stairs toward the front doors of the mansion. Her steps were slow and heavy.
The stable hand gently pulled Damon’s horse away, leading the animal toward the warm stables at the back of the estate.
Damon was left alone in the center of the courtyard.
He stood there, watching Camilla walk into the house. He watched her back until she disappeared into the bright light of the grand foyer.
A crushing weight of sadness dropped into Damon’s heart. He felt helpless. He hated seeing her like this. He preferred her angry, he preferred her screaming, and he even preferred her slapping him across the face.
This cold, empty distance was terrifying. It felt like she was a million miles away from him.
Damon let out a long sigh. He slowly began to walk toward the mansion.
As he stepped into the grand foyer, Mr. Murry, the older housekeeper, hurried over to greet him.
Murry had just watched Camilla walk silently up the grand staircase. The old man looked deeply confused and very worried.
"Welcome home, My Lord," Murry bowed his gray head respectfully.
Damon did not return the greeting. He looked directly at the housekeeper with serious, commanding eyes.
"Prepare dinner upstairs as soon as possible," Damon ordered firmly. His voice was low and serious. "Do not serve it in the dining room. Bring the trays to the master bedroom."
Murry wrung his hands together nervously. He looked up at the General’s worried face.
"Did something happen to the lady?" Murry asked softly, his voice full of genuine, fatherly concern for Camilla. "She did not smile at me when she entered. She did not say a single word."
Damon looked toward the top of the stairs. He clenched his jaw tightly.
"I don’t know," Damon replied honestly. His voice carried a deep, painful frustration. "I don’t know what is wrong."
Damon turned his attention back to Murry, giving clear, specific instructions to comfort his wife.
"Send maids to prepare a bath for her immediately," Damon commanded softly. "Make the water very warm. Add the sweet, relaxing oils. She’s really tired today. She needs something warm to ease the tension of her muscles before she sleeps."
Murry nodded his head rapidly. He understood the General’s deep care.
"Yes, My Lord," Murry agreed eagerly. "I will have the kitchen staff prepare her warm soup right now. I will send the maids up with the hot water buckets immediately."
"Good," Damon nodded once.
Murry turned around and rushed away toward the servants’ quarters to gather the staff.
Damon slowly placed his hand on the smooth railing of the grand staircase. He began to climb the stairs. His boots made slow, quiet thuds against the stone steps.
He reached the second floor and walked down the long, carpeted hallway.
He finally reached the door of the master bedroom.
Damon did not push the door wide open. He was afraid of startling her. He turned the brass handle very slowly and carefully. He pushed the door open just a tiny, small crack.
He stood quietly in the dark hallway, peeking inside the room.
The bedroom was dimly lit by a single oil lamp on the small table.
Camilla was standing in the center of the room. She was undressing.
But as Damon watched her, his heart sank even deeper into his chest.
Usually, when Camilla returned from a long day in the city, she took off her clothes with a loud, dramatic sigh of relief. She would complain in her mind about the tight corsets. She would throw her shoes onto the floor happily and shake out her red hair. She would look completely relaxed.
But tonight, she wasn’t doing it like the way she usually does.
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