Free Web NovelChapter 260: Chapter Two Hundred And Fifty Nine
Camilla jumped slightly. She stopped sneaking and stood up straight. She turned to look at the old housekeeper.
She forced a wide and nervous smile onto her face.
"I’m fine!" Camilla replied quickly. Her voice was slightly higher than normal. "I am perfectly fine, Uncle Murry."
She glanced nervously toward the open iron gates of the estate, checking the dark road.
"Is the general back?" Camilla asked, trying to sound casual.
Murry shook his gray head slowly.
"No, My Lady," Murry replied politely. "Not yet. He has not returned."
Camilla let out a loud sigh of relief. She placed her hand on her chest. She had beat him home. She was safe for now.
She nodded her head quickly. She needed to secure her hiding spot.
"Okay, good," Camilla said smoothly. She looked at Murry and issued a very strange command. "Have a bath prepared for me immediately. But prepare it in the guest room at the end of the east hallway."
Mr. Murry blinked. His jaw dropped open slightly.
He stared at her in shock.
"Guest room?" Murry responded, his voice full of genuine horror and sadness. He gripped his oil lamp tightly. "Did you two fight again, My Lady?"
Murry felt like crying. He thought the young couple had finally been getting along nicely over the past weeks. Why was she suddenly moving out of the master bedroom?
Camilla saw his panicked, sad face. She quickly waved her hands in the air, trying to dismiss his dramatic worries.
"It’s nothing to worry about, Uncle Murry," Camilla replied rapidly, lying through her teeth. "I am just very tired. The guest room is closer to the stairs. That’s all."
She turned her body toward the grand front doors, eager to escape his questioning eyes.
"And don’t bother about dinner for me tonight," Camilla added loudly as she walked away. "I am already full!"
Before Murry could say another word, or ask why her lips looked so red and swollen, Camilla rushed inside the mansion. She practically ran across the grand foyer and sprinted up the stairs, desperate to hide from the world.
Mr. Murry was left standing alone in the cold courtyard.
He held his oil lamp, staring at the empty front doors. He shook his gray head sadly from side to side. He was confused. He did not understand why young people made their own lives so difficult.
Less than five minutes later, the loud sound of galloping hooves echoed on the dirt road.
Damon’s horse charged through the iron gates. Damon pulled the reins back sharply, bringing the sweating horse to a sudden, violent stop in the center of the courtyard.
Damon jumped down from the saddle before the horse had even completely stopped moving. He tossed the leather reins to a waiting stable hand.
Damon marched quickly toward the front steps. He looked anxious, intense, and highly stressed.
He saw Murry standing by the doors.
"Have you seen the lady?" Damon asked immediately. His deep voice was rough and breathless. He needed to know if she was safe inside.
Murry looked at the General. He noticed the panicked look in Damon’s eyes.
Murry frowned in deep concern. "Did you two have a fight, My Lord?" Murry asked, repeating the exact same question he had asked Camilla.
Damon stopped walking. He stared at the housekeeper.
"Why did you say so?" Damon asked, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a sharp frown.
Murry let out a sad, heavy sigh. He gestured with his free hand toward the upper floors of the mansion.
"Because she just ran inside looking very nervous," Murry replied honestly. "And she requested a bath to be drawn in the guest room on the east wing. She is not going to the master bedroom tonight."
Damon’s entire body went stiff.
The color slowly drained from his face. He stood frozen on the stone steps.
"She’s not sleeping in the room with me tonight?" Damon asked. His voice was quiet and full of crushing disappointment.
He stared blankly at the stone wall. He thought about the sudden kiss in the fabric store. He remembered how she had pushed him away and run into her carriage.
Damon murmured to himself. His voice was a soft regretful whisper.
"Is it because of the kiss?" Damon asked himself out loud, completely forgetting that Murry was standing right next to him.
Murry heard the quiet murmur clearly.
The old housekeeper blinked his eyes. He tilted his gray head to the side, looking at the General with a confused expression.
"Kiss?" Murry asked out loud. His voice was full of an old-man bewilderment.
Murry stared at Damon as if the General were acting insane.
"But you two have done it before," Murry reasoned logically, speaking his mind freely. "You have been sharing the same bed for a long time now. You are legally married. Why is a simple kiss today any different? Why is it causing such a massive drama that she has to move to a guest room?"
He had long assumed that since they were already doing things far more intimate than a simple kiss.
Damon heard Murry’s logical, confused question.
Damon’s ears instantly turned a bright, burning shade of hot red. He felt a wave of deep embarrassment flood his chest. He could not possibly explain to his elderly housekeeper that today was the very first time he had ever kissed his own wife on the lips. The shame would be too great.
He ignored the old man’s misunderstanding. He coughed softly to clear his throat and hide his red ears.
Damon looked at Murry. He let his broad shoulders slump forward in defeat.
"Uncle Murry," Damon pleaded softly. His deep voice sounded tired and truly desperate. "What do I do?"
He was genuinely asking his servant for romantic help. He had absolutely no idea how to fix this situation. He had scared her away with his sudden, overwhelming passion.
Murry looked at Damon and his heart softened. He wanted to help the young master win his wife back.
Murry let out a gentle smile. He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking deeply about the Lady’s personality.
"Well, My Lord," Murry began, his voice taking on a very knowledgeable tone. "You must understand the Lady’s heart."
Murry nodded his head firmly.
"The lady is a food lover at heart," Murry stated the absolute truth. "She loves gold, but she loves eating good, delicious meals even more. Her mood always improves significantly after she eats something sweet or savory."
Murry formulated a brilliant, foolproof plan.
"Tomorrow," Murry promised happily, "I will have the kitchen staff cook her favorite meal. We will prepare roasted duck, sweet pastries, fruit tarts and her absolute favorite, orange juice. Once she is full and happy, then you can approach her. You can render your apology, and she will be much more likely to forgive you."
Damon listened to Murry’s plan. He thought about it carefully.
"Food," Damon thought to himself. "Food makes her happy."
Suddenly, a brilliant spark of inspiration exploded inside Damon’s mind.
He didn’t want the kitchen staff to cook for her. If a random chef cooked the meal, it would just be a normal dinner. It would not show his true, deep sincerity. If he wanted to prove how much he cared, he had to do it himself. He had to put his own sweat and effort into the apology.
Damon looked at the old housekeeper.
"Teach me," Damon ordered clearly. His deep voice was firm and full of solid resolve.
Murry was stunned. He held his oil lamp tightly, blinking in shock.
"What?" Murry shouted softly, his voice squeaking in disbelief. He thought his old ears were failing him.
Damon took a step closer. He looked extremely serious.
"Teach me," Damon repeated, emphasizing every single word. "Teach me how to make her favorite food."
Mr. Murry’s jaw dropped open.
He stared at Damon. He looked at Damon’s broad shoulders. He looked at Damon’s calloused, scarred hands—hands that were built entirely for crushing throats and swinging bloody steel broadswords on violent battlefields.
The idea of this giant, terrifying, blood-soaked warrior wearing a small white kitchen apron, holding a wooden spoon, and gently stirring a pot of sweet fruit was the most ridiculous, hilarious, and absurd image Murry had ever pictured in his entire, long life.
Murry stared at him, speechless, wondering if the General was actually going to burn the entire Benson mansion down to the ground in his desperate attempt to cook a romantic meal.
