The double doors of the dining room slamd shut behind Damon. The loud, sharp sound echoed violently off the high stone ceiling.
Mr. Murry stared at the closed doors, totally unable to understand what had just happened. The General had barely taken a single sip of his soup before he exploded in pure anger and stord out.
Camilla sat calmly. She slowly lowered her spoon back into her ceramic bowl. She watched the closed doors for a few seconds.
She let out a very soft, quiet sigh. She turned her head and looked directly at the older housekeeper.
"Uncle Murry," Camilla said. Her voice was back to normal. It was casual, and totally unbothered by the sudden drama.
Murry quickly blinked his eyes. He snapped out of his shocked state and stepped forward. He bowed his gray head nervously.
"Yes, My Lady?" Murry replied, his voice shaking slightly.
Camilla tilted her head to the side. She pointed her spoon toward the empty chair at the head of the table.
"Did he take sothing bitter this morning, Uncle Murry?" Camilla asked smoothly.
She thought about Damon’s angry face. "Did the kitchen put a sour lemon in his soup? Because he looked exactly like soone who just chewed on a bitter root."
Murry looked down at the General’s abandoned bowl. The soup was perfectly fine. He had checked it himself.
Murry shook his head slowly from side to side.
"I don’t think so, my lady," Murry replied softly. "The food was prepared perfectly. I do not know why the General beca so suddenly upset."
Camilla simply shrugged her delicate shoulders. She did not care about Damon’s bad mood. She had her own problems to worry about, and she was busy missing her orange cat.
"Well, his loss is my gain," Camilla thought to herself. Her internal voice was practical and relaxed. "I can finally eat in complete peace without him glaring at like I am a criminal."
She looked down the length of the table.
The table was covered with hot, delicious food ant to feed a large, hungry military man. Now that Damon was gone, the food was just sitting there, getting cold.
Camilla looked at Murry. Then, she looked at the four young maids pressing themselves against the walls. The maids looked hungry and tired. They had been awake since dawn preparing the house.
"Uncle Murry," Camilla spoke out loud, her voice clear and commanding.
She gestured her hand toward the empty chairs lining the long table.
"Tell the maids to co here," Camilla instructed smoothly. "I want you and the other servants that are here to sit down with and eat."
The entire dining room went dead silent again.
The four maids stared at Camilla with wide, disbelieving eyes. They thought they had misheard the Lady of the house.
Mr. Murry’s jaw dropped slightly. He looked at the empty chairs, and then he looked back at Camilla.
In this historical society, the rules were absolute. Servants never, ever sat at the main dining table. They never ate the master’s food. They ate their als in the kitchen after the nobles were finished. Sitting with the Lady was a massive breach of proper etiquette.
"My Lady," Murry hesitated. He took a small step backward. "That is highly improper. We are servants. We cannot sit at the family table. It goes against all the rules of the house."
Camilla rolled her dark eyes. She hated the strict, boring rules of this historical world.
"I am the Lady of this house, correct?" Camilla asked, raising her chin slightly.
"Yes, My Lady," Murry agreed quickly, bowing his head.
"Then I make the rules, you have told this before and I told you it doesn’t matter," Camilla stated firmly. She pointed to the large spread of food. "There is too much food here. I cannot finish it all by myself. It is a terrible sin to waste good, hot food. I do not want it thrown away."
She looked directly at the terrified maids. She softened her voice, offering them a very kind, genuine smile.
"Please, co and sit down," Camilla insisted warmly. "You all look tired. You have worked hard this morning. Let us share the al together."
Murry looked at her kind face. He saw that she was really serious. She genuinely wanted them to eat with her. He felt a deep, warm feeling in his old chest. The Lady was truly a generous, unique woman.
Murry finally smiled. He nodded his head.
"As you wish, My Lady," Murry replied gratefully.
Murry turned to the four maids. He nodded at them, giving them official permission to move.
Slowly, the maids stepped away from the cold stone walls. They walked nervously toward the long table. They pulled out thechairs and sat down very carefully, sitting on the very edges of the seats.
Murry sat down in a chair near Camilla.
"Pass the bread, please," Camilla said happily, picking up her spoon to eat her soup.
Seeing the older housekeeper sit down, the maids finally relaxed a little bit. They reached out timidly and took pieces of the warm bread and sweet fruits. Soon, the quiet, tense dining room was filled with the soft, pleasant sounds of eating.
Camilla ate her breakfast in complete peace, happy to be surrounded by quiet people while preparing an outing with her brother.
Outside in the large, paved courtyard, the morning air was crisp and cool.
Damon marched out of the front doors of the mansion. His leather boots stomped hard against the stone pavent. He was breathing heavily. His broad chest rose and fell with intense, burning anger.
A large carriage was already waiting in the center of the courtyard. The driver was sitting on the high wooden seat, ready to go. Two heavily armored guards sat on horses nearby, waiting to escort the General.
Damon stopped near the side of the carriage.
He reached into the pocket of his military coat. He pulled out a pair of black leather gloves.
He began putting the gloves on his hands. He pulled the dark leather roughly over his fingers. He pulled them so hard that the leather creaked loudly in the quiet courtyard. Every single physical movent he made was filled with uncontrolled aggression.
He was absolutely consud by jealousy.
"Winston," Damon thought to himself, his mind repeating the na over and over again like a curse.
He pictured a tall, handso nobleman from the capital city. He pictured a strong, rogue rcenary. He pictured anyone who could possibly be the secret lover his wife was crying for in her sleep.
Just then, quick footsteps sounded on the stone pavent behind him.
Kade ca jogging out of the front doors. Kade was holding a small leather bag filled with the daily schedule and official reports of the Benson army.
Kade walked up to Damon. He stopped a few feet away, standing perfectly straight.
"Good morning, General," Kade greeted him respectfully, bowing his head slightly.
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