The long journey back to the capital city finally ca to an end. The carriage rolled slowly through the iron gates of the Benson estate. The wheels crunched against the stone pavent of the courtyard and ca to a complete stop.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp. A footman quickly ran forward. He grabbed the brass handle of the carriage door and pulled it wide open.
Damon moved his hand, intending to offer it to Camilla to help her down.
But Camilla did not wait. She did not even look at his outstretched hand.
She moved quickly and smoothly. She gathered the silk of her dress in one hand and stepped lightly out of the carriage all by herself. Her soft shoes hit the stone courtyard.
She imdiately turned her back to the carriage and began walking up the wide stone steps toward the front doors of the mansion.
Damon slowly lowered his empty hand. He watched her walk away. The space beside him in the carriage suddenly felt very cold. He stepped out of the carriage and followed quietly behind her.
As soon as they entered the grand foyer, the bright light from the windows washed over them. A line of maids standing near the entrance imdiately lowered their heads. They bowed deeply from the waist.
"Welco My Lord, welco My Lady," the maids greeted them in unison. Their voices echoed in the large, open hall.
Camilla stopped walking. She did not look at Damon, who was standing just a few steps behind her. She looked directly at the maids. Her face was perfectly calm, showing no signs of the intense, awkward mont that had just happened inside the carriage.
Camilla spoke. Her voice was polite, clear, and very steady.
"Thank you," Camilla said to the servants. She let out a small, tired sigh. "Please prepare a hot bath for upstairs. And prepare sothing for to eat in my room. I’m craving sothing sweet."
Two of the young maids quickly stepped forward from the line. They bowed their heads again.
"Right away, my lady," the two maids replied obediently. They quickly turned around and hurried toward the kitchen and the stairs to fulfill her requests.
Damon just stood there in the middle of the grand foyer. He kept his hands resting loosely by his sides. He watched her give commands with perfect, flawless ease. She looked really relaxed.
Damon’s jaw tightened slightly. His eyes searched the side of her face, looking for any sign of nervousness or blushing. There was absolutely nothing.
"How is she acting like nothing happened between us?" Damon thought to himself. His internal voice was a ssy swirl of deep confusion and frustration.
He rembered how she had fallen onto his chest. He rembered how close their faces had been. He rembered staring deep into her eyes and feeling his own heart beat wildly.
"Does she not feel what I feel?" Damon wondered in his mind. He watched her smooth down the front of her silk dress. "Or does she feel the exact sa thing... but for soone else?"
A sharp, painful sting of jealousy hit his chest. He thought about his cousin, Allen. He thought about the n at the ball. He thought about how easily she smiled at other people, but how cold she acted toward him.
Camilla took so steps toward the grand staircase. She placed her pale hand on the smooth wooden railing. She lifted the hem of her dress, ready to climb the stairs to the room.
Then, she paused. She did not turn her body around. She did not look back at him.
"And," Camilla spoke softly, her voice floating back over her shoulder. "Call the doctor to take care of the general. He is hurt."
The remaining maids in the foyer bowed quickly. "Yes, My Lady."
Camilla did not say another word. She climbed the stairs slowly and gracefully, disappearing onto the second floor and heading straight to the room.
Damon stood in the foyer, staring at the empty staircase. His heart gave a sudden, strange thump. She said sothing about his injury. She had rembered to call the doctor for him. Even though she acted cold, she still cared enough to make sure he was treated. It was a very small gesture, but to a man who had been starved of affection for his entire life, it felt like a great victory.
Damon turned away from the stairs. He walked quietly down the long, shadowed hallway that led to his private study.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study was dark and quiet. He lit a single oil lamp on his large desk.
As the yellow light filled the space, Damon saw a white envelope resting perfectly in the center of his desk.
He walked over and picked it up. He felt the expensive paper. He turned it over and saw a large, deep red wax seal. The seal bore the crest of the Royal Family. It was an official letter from the King.
Damon broke the red wax seal with his thumb. He pulled out the folded letter and read the elegant, curving handwriting.
It was an invitation to the royal court, scheduled for tomorrow morning. The King wanted to discuss the recent events in the kingdom.
Damon let out a very long sigh.
He dropped the letter onto the desk. He was exhausted. He did not want to deal with smiling politicians and greedy nobles tomorrow. He just wanted to figure out the strange, confusing feelings growing inside his own house.
A few minutes later, a soft knock ca on the study door.
"Enter," Damon said, sitting down in his leather chair.
The family doctor walked into the room, carrying his worn brown leather dical bag. The doctor bowed respectfully to the General.
"The Lady requested I see to your injury, My Lord," the doctor said politely.
Damon nodded and held out his right hand.
The doctor stepped forward. He looked at the white lace handkerchief tied securely around Damon’s bruised knuckles. The lace was slightly dirty from the carriage ride, and small spots of dried red blood stained the white fabric.
The doctor carefully reached out and untied the neat knot Camilla had made. He slowly unwrapped the soft lace from Damon’s large hand.
Damon watched the doctor remove the handkerchief. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to snatch the cloth back. That handkerchief belonged to Camilla. It slled faintly of her sweet soap. It was the very first item she had ever willingly given him to comfort his pain.
The doctor placed the dirty handkerchief onto the edge of the desk. He took out a small bottle of clear alcohol and a clean cloth. He began to clean the raw, split skin on Damon’s knuckles.
The alcohol stung fiercely, but Damon did not flinch. He did not even blink. Physical pain ant absolutely nothing to him right now.
After a few minutes, the doctor applied a soothing green herbal ointnt and wrapped the knuckles in clean, fresh white bandages.
"Keep the hand clean, My Lord," the doctor advised, packing his tools back into his bag. "It should heal fully in a few days."
The doctor bowed and left the study.
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