Where Did You Go To?

After a few minuets more Cecile rose, and went to the door. She and Rosamonde walked in silences. Cecile had done it. She had gotten the key and freed he self from the pain that had been holding her heart. As the women walk down the stares they passed Valmont. Cecile smiled politely and dropped the key. The pair was meet at the bottom of the stares by Mme. Tourvel and Cecile�s mother.

�I was just coming to look for you. Where did you disappear to?� Mme. de Volange said with only the faints of real concern.

Valmont felt the key in his hand with satisfaction... the little minx had done it! Leaning slightly over the bannister he could just see the child talking with the other women. Oh, the pious smile of her mother, if only she knew. Then he hurried off to give the key to his servant. A copy must be made before the original is missed.

Rosamonde put her arm gently around Cecile's shoulders, sensing that the girl still seemed upset. She wasn't sure if she should intervene or not, so she kept silent, waiting for Cecile to answer.

Madame de Tourvel�s heart swelled with pity for poor Cecile. She remembered being at that awkward age � fresh out of the convent and gaping in astonishment at a world had had never yet been a part of. She, too, knew the weight of an overbearing mother and the fear such a person could strike.

�The poor girl probably got turned around in this big house,� she spoke up, hoping to relieve some of the pressure on Cecile.

Cecile looked from Tourvel to Rosamonde and back at Tourvel. She gave a little nod with a wisp of a smile. She mother gave a mild smiled and moved to head for the door to the garden.

Mme de Volange turned from her daughter. Even with Valmont in the house she still couldn�t muster much concern for her daughter. She just need Cecile to marry well and so that there was money to be had. The though of being poor, almost made her cry, almost. They would be poor soon of she did not merry soon. The gifts of friend and there English family would only go so far. She just hoped it would last tell January when the major would return.

But all this passed out of her head as she stepped on to the garden path. It was a lovely spring day, and she was in need of a walk.

Tourvel watched Madame Volange march out into the garden, followed hesitantly by her daughter. Linking arms with Rosamonde. "Can you remember being so young and awkward?" she asked in a hushed voice. "I remember the days before I married Tourvel... mother's can bring a lot of pressure on their daughter, but I think Cecile feels it more so, because she doesn't have the same stability I had."

"Cecile is too young to know her own mind, but I think perhaps her temperament is a little willful and he mother doesn't handle it well. She needs a to be advised by a personality stronger than her own." Rosamonde sighed. Where would they find such a person in these troubled times?

Tourvel nodded slowly, �I can see that you are right, but I am at a loss as to how we can help her.� It would be horribly inappropriate to suggest such a thing to Madame Volange.

Tourvel blinked rapidly as they stepped out of the shaded halls into the brilliant sunlight. It appeared that Madame Volange intended to tour the gardens and Tourvel looked to Rosemonde to see if the older woman was up for the stroll or if it were better if they sat at the shaded table nearby and took in the landscape.

The day was too warm... so much for the myth that it always rained in England! Rosamonde headed for the table and called for a servant to bring some refreshments. "Will you join me?" she asked Tourvel.

�Certainly, Madame,� Tourvel followed Rosamonde to the shaded table. �This weather puts me in the mind of home. My husband always gave me the impression that the sun never shines in England.�

"I've found that this country has its moments." replied Rosamonde, easing her old bones into a chair. "The weather here in the south is little different to Normandy." She heard footsteps and turned, thinking to see the drinks arrive, but instead seeing her nephew leaving the house. "Valmont!" she called. "Valmont, come here!"

He paused for a second, debating whether to pretend he had not heard, but then decided against it. "Yes, aunt?" he asked forcing a pleasant smile.

"Where are you off to?"

"For a walk." He said simply. The aim of his walk was to get a copy made of Cecile's room key.

"Well, you can walk later. We're having drinks, come and sit with us." Rosamonde's eyes showed an amusing challenge... go on, be rude in front of La Presidente!

Valmont though knew he had lost, and had the wit not even attempt to fight. The dutiful nephew strolled over to take a seat right next to Tourvel, acknowledging her with a polite "Madame." He would get the key cut afterwards.

�Messieur,� Tourvel returned the acknowledgement, then recalled her conversation with Madame de Rosamonde and how unfairly she had had been treating the Vicomte, when he had done little to her to merit such treatment. The responsibility lay on her shoulders to put things right. �Your aunt and I have been discussing the weather here in England, M. de Valmont. How do you find it?�

"It is not Paris, but I cannot complain. England has certain... attractions for me, which France at present does not." His words were neutral, his tone almost so, but his brief smile and glance told Tourvel that the main attraction was seated by his side... her!

Tourvel blushed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It was this very behavior that caused Tourvel to worry and wonder. Even as she looked away, she could feel his eyes upon her. �Th-The horrors in France leave a foul taste in everyone�s mouth these days,� Tourvel continued awkwardly. �I can only pray the madness ends quickly before too much innocent blood was spilled.� There. Now the conversation was steered away from anything that could be taken as suggestive.

Valmont watched Tourvel colour and squirm in calm silence. Rosamonde tried to ignore her nephew's double meaning, though it was very clear that she was glad of the distraction of the drinks arriving. "That is a fine sentiment." she replied to Tourvel, taking a drink from the servant as he poured three glasses, "Now, shall we copy another British tradition and toast it? An end to the madness in France... salut!"

Tourvel raised her glass to her companions, �And to good friends... Salut!� The topic now change to which would not readily invite unwanted complements, Tourvel felt more at ease.

"Good friends." echoed Valmont taking another sip, "and new friendships! Tell me, Madame, when does your husband join our little party?" he asked casually.

�My husband?� Tourvel echoed, completely taken off guard. It was an innocent question, but not one that she was prepared or had answer for. �It may be some time before he leaves Austria. He has made the safety of the Royal family his primary concern and thus far the greatest efforts towards fulfilling that goal are being made there. He hesitates leaving for fear some opportunity may be missed in his absence.� It was a noble, selfless gesture and La Presidente was tremendously proud of her husband�s steadfast loyalty.

He raised an eyebrow and filed that information under: useful to know. "You are not concerned for his safety? What would happen if he were captured?"

"Hush, Valmont! You must not suggest such things." Admonished Rosamonde.

"But it's a real possibility, aunt." countered Valmont artlessly, "M Tourvel is very brave to do what he does, but I really think he cares more for the royal family than for his wife... had I such a treasure, I would think of nothing else."

For an entire minute, Tourvel stared at Valmont stunned silence, unable to formulate a response. No one ever talked to her in this way. All were concerns for her, but there was something so much more horrible when one�s fear are spoken aloud, makes they seem all the more real.

�My husband is performing a service for our country despite such sacrifices,� she replied in a very controlled tone, when at last she could speak. �Would that more people followed his example, then perhaps less blood would be spilt. It is only a matter of time before those murders vent their wrath on the royal family.� Those final words were spoken with all the passion Gros-Ren� conveyed in his letters � how could she complain about his absences when he was doing a service for their whole country? The very least she could do in turn was wait patiently and not complain.

Good God, the woman actually believed that her husband was martyring himself for the cause, instead of idling at court in Austria and probably whoring the place dry! Nevertheless, he contrived to look penitent, "You are right, of course. You shame me, Madame, for I am here."

Tourvel sipped her lemonade, trying to recover her composure. She hot and flushed and decidedly ill to her stomach. Why did M. Valmont insist on badgering her so? A conversation with him typically left her feeling confused and uncomfortable. Why this fascination now?

Changing the topic yet again, Tourvel asked, �How did you come here, M. Valmont?�

"By coach from London." he replied innocently.

"Valmont!" reproached Rosamonde, with a humourous smile on her lips, "Mme Tourvel means how did you come to be in England?"

"Oh," the Vicomte gave a vague gesture, "a mixture of prudence and cowardice, I suppose. It seemed the wisest course of action at the time."

Tourvel blushed, fearing the Vicomte had misconstrued her remarks. �I did not mean to imply you were a coward, M. Valmont,� she replied. �These are troubled times and anyone with the opportunity to leave France is wise to do so. I am grateful you are here to comfort Mme Rosamonde.�

He gave a self-depreciative smile... now she was feeling sorry for him, that was far better than mistrust, so keep it going. "I think I am more of a worry to my dear aunt, than a comfort."

"Nonsense..." began Rosamonde, but he drained his glass and cut her short. No sense in over-playing the part.

"I'm afraid I must leave you ladies now." he said, obliquely referring to his original reason for stepping outdoors. It was getting late and Cecile would expect him to have had the key copied by tonight.

Tourvel stared after Valmont in perplexity. She didn't know what to make of him sometimes. Sometimes he was charming, others he pressed to the point of discomfort. Either she was judging him too harshly or not harshly enough. "Sometimes I don't know what to make of him," she admitted to Rosamonde.