Fifty Shades Trilogy 1000 Days at the Chateau- chapter 8B9

One Thousand Days – Chapter 8B – Vienna

Guy thought it would be easy to leave Valentine behind but it seemed everywhere he went something reminded him of her. Something in his mother's smile on the journey turned his thoughts to his mistress. He considered his mother's faded beauty and thought of Valentine's youthful vivacity and wondered how long she would keep her looks. His mother looked old as he studied her face on the journey. But there was still a radiant smile when needed and a haughty air of entitlement that only true beauty endows. His mother's portraits from before she married showed the truth of her beauty. He thought he should have Valentine painted on his return to remind him always of her, regardless of what happened.

His nights were lonely on the journey. He missed Valentine's quiet company, her companionable stillness in his rooms; the warmth and passion of her in his bed. He tried not to think of her but the more he pushed her from his thoughts the more he seemed to see her everywhere, not to mention her nightly appearance in his dreams; smiling, holding out her hand, kissing him tenderly.

He took supper with Elise each evening but she retired early as the journey tired her terribly. For the first time in his life Guy contemplated a life without his mother. Was this her last grand event: Alexei's wedding with the pick of European royalty in attendance? Was that why she had been so insistent on Valentine not attending, because she didn't want her there to draw attention from the collective dowagers or the other noble women? It was not a question he could ask her. It was absurd to think of his mother being jealous of a peasant girl, of a mistress. But women were mysterious creatures and prone to excessive emotional responses.

He had his own reasons for not taking Valentine but it was easier for Elise to think she had persuaded Guy to her cause. Sometimes a little lie was worth it. Elise needed to believe she had some influence over her son: Guy understood this, knowing it was better to give in on small incidental matters, so that when he refused to be influenced by her desires she need not feel so defeated. It was kinder to let her think she continued to exert some influence over him. He guessed his father had done much the same thing: give in on the small things, so he could always make the main decisions without making her feel her place too much. Elise had always been a proud woman, there was no need to vanquish her as her light faded.

In Vienna Guy gave into his loneliness. Once settled in his apartments for the wedding celebrations he summonsed Jacques.

'I am too far from home,' he confided. 'I need companionship.'

Jacques nodded. 'Should she be alike or different?'

Guy shrugged. 'What would be best? Someone who looks just like Valentine so I can pretend she is here? Or a woman who is so different I do not think of her at all?'

'I do not know, sir. I do not understand why she did not come with us.'

Guy glared at Jacques. 'It is not for you to question my decisions, Jacques. You know this. Now exercise some judgement and find me a woman, a girl who will please me for these few weeks. I will be generous to her; and to you if she pleases me.'

Jacques left quickly, annoyed at his own impertinence and at the task. He did not enjoy some parts of his work and a part of him felt disloyal to Valentine in finding a replacement for her, when it seemed it needed not to happen. He snorted to himself as he left the marquis' presence: how could he find a woman who resembled Valentine? There was none as beautiful in society, so how would there be one amongst the women of the night?

Elise was smugly pleased by Guy's disloyalty to Valentine: she saw it as a small victory, a chink in the relationship, such that she could now push for the much needed re-marriage. She knew there would be several suitable women at the wedding celebrations and she would ensure Guy was acquainted with all by the end of the event such that not only could he choose a bride, he would want to choose a bride. She knew though, to employ a light touch, to ensure Guy did not feel pushed or forced into the company of any woman. He needed to believe he was making choices.

Guy sat impatiently as several women were paraded before him. Jacques had taken the pragmatic decision to bring a selection of women to the marquis for him to choose. It was too difficult for him to choose on anyone else's behalf, and impossible to second guess the marquis in his current unpredictable mood. The journey had not settled on him well and he seemed more unhappy about being in Vienna than anything else.

'Is this the best there is?' the marquis hissed at Jacques.

'You have been spoilt, sir. These women are recommended: clean and skilful. But sir, it is only for the month, remember.'

Guy snorted: more fool him for being a man with needs and a man with the only mistress in the world worth having and not having her here. He finally decided on one who best approximated Valentine. But she was not as young, not as fair and not as voluptuous. She was pretty in a brittle, jaded way. Too long at her trade, he assumed. Still, she would do.

'Arrange a room, Jacques. Instruct her to wait upon my command. I shall pay her for all the hours she is in my employ, not just for her skills. That should put a smile on her sad face.'

Guy de Chatillon was a man who preferred to hunt and ride. He was more at ease with men; drinking, playing cards. He liked women well enough but not as much as his friends or his father. He enjoyed being with a woman but it was not the driving passion in his life. Well, that had been true until Valentine entered his life. Now, he was ashamed of his increased needs, of his desires over-whelming him in the same base way that they controlled his friends.

He was not a passionate man by nature. Rather he was reserved, verging on shy. He was the second son so there had been no need to be more than he was: quiet, reliable, a good soldier and trusted friend. He brought credit to his family and had been looking forward to a career in the army. But Gerard had died and his own life had changed dramatically in that single tragic event.

He preferred women who were compliant, who did not demand much from him. He found the situation with Valentine ideal: he was in charge at all moments. Thus they made silent love, where he could descend into a deep stillness as he moved within her, un-distracted by bothersome noises or words that jarred and impaired his concentration on sensation and pleasure. Other women were not so obedient, especially not the first girl, so long ago now.

He rarely thought of that first time; the memory flushed him with shame but here in Vienna, away from the sanctity of his chambers and the reassurance of Valentine, he remembered. He was fourteen, about to leave home to attend court. He was not sure how long he would be away from home but he was excited at the prospect of travelling and of attending court. It was a great honour, his father said, as he finalised preparations.

The marquis had ensured Guy was an accomplished rider and swordsman: he was competent with a pistol and a gun. He was well tutored in history, literature, the arts and philosophy. He could dance and his manners were impeccable. There was but one small thing lacking and his father was not about to send him off to court without some rudimentary lessons in that field of endeavour.

Gerard's mistress, Odette, was to be Guy's birthday present. She was a beauty to be sure and much valued by Gerard as she had produced a son, a magnificent confirmation of his virility. She was to be Guy's teacher in these matters. In one week she would initiate him in the ways of love and send him to Paris, if not a man of the world, then no longer a boy. Now, Guy realised it had been as much about the old marquis' ego as his own; that his father did not want his son to be found lacking in any way and for that lack to reflect badly on the name of de Chatillon. Then, he was mildly terrified by the situation.

Odette had a small cottage on the estate not far from the chateau where she presided over her own small household. She seemed a woman of the world, of immense presence and maturity, but in reality she must have been no more than eighteen, nineteen at the most. Gerard spent his time between his apartments and the cottage, coming and going as he wished.

Guy was presented to Odette and left alone with her. She seemed bemused, not altogether pleased by this matter.

'I have been commanded by your brother,' she said. 'So I will comply with his wishes. I want you to understand that I am only doing this for you because it pleases my master.'

Guy nodded.

She sat before him with her night gown open loosely showing her ample breasts. She seemed at ease in her body, in being semi-naked before him. He could not imagine disrobing in front of her.

'I will instruct you,' she said. 'But I prefer you not to speak. It will be easier for both of us.'

She caressed his smooth hairless face, placing her mouth gently on his, simply lips to lips. She moved a hand to his groin where he felt stirrings, the ones he knew from his night-dreams. Her tongue pushed into his mouth and his loins tingled with electricity: his penis took a life of its own, hard beneath his breeches and her hand. She undid his buttons, releasing his manhood. She touched it softly, knowing as he did not that a young boy was easily aroused.

She left him to undress and led on the bed; her naked flesh for him to appreciate. She was the first woman he had seen naked; she was white and soft, her flesh ample and inviting. He wondered if he dared go where his brother had been.

'Come,' she beckoned. 'I am ready for you and you are ready for me. Lay your body on mine and I will guide you.'

He was light and gentle above her, a boy eager and keen, scared and excited. He stabbed at her with his penis, blindly butting her flesh, but not penetrating anything.

She laughed. 'Wait.' She took him in her hand and guided him to her entrance. 'Push now.'

He obeyed and found himself in a warm embrace that he had never expected or imagined. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her. She ran her fingers down his spine and in that moment, as he pushed once and twice it was done: a rush of heat through him, exploding in his brain and out of him into her and it was over. He fell onto her, breathless.

She laughed. He could hear her laugh. He flushed with shame, pulling himself out of her quickly to move away from her mocking mound of flesh.

'It's all right,' she said. 'It's what happens. It is your first time; it is always quick. But we will do it again, as soon as you are ready and it will be better.'

But the laughter, the mocking laughter and the flush of shame from that encounter stayed with Guy forever, no matter that she treated him tenderly and he was grateful for the gift. Her laughter echoed through every encounter with a new woman, even his poor wife, who had been as frightened as him that first time, on the night of their wedding.

Now, as he plunged into the depths of this latest girl he heard Odette's voice, her laughter echoing in the room. Now, because he was a man of experience he knew how to hurt as well as to pleasure and it gave him pleasure this cold night in Vienna, miles away from his silent loving Valentine, to push too deep and too hard into this nameless girl, whom he would forget the moment he returned to Valentine's arms.

One Thousand Days – Chapter 9 – One Month

Valentine had not returned to health by the time the marquis and the dowager returned from Prince Alexei's wedding extravaganza. Sophie had cut Valentine's hair to allow it a chance to strengthen and it now sat above between her ears and shoulders, slowly re-finding its bounce. Mathilde had allowed a return to daily baths and she joined Valentine and Monsieur Artois for dinner and supper to ensure Valentine was eating all that lay before her. This time it was harder as she had lost her appetite for food and much of life it seemed. Valentine returned to her weekly riding lessons with Rene, but was not allowed to go too far, or too fast. She took brief strolls in the grounds with Monsieur Artois but was easily fatigued. She was not regaining condition as quickly as Mathilde would have liked and was fearful of the marquis' reaction on his return.

Monsieur Artois and Mathilde held a council of war in the week before the return of the marquis.

'She is not well enough,' Mathilde said, stating the obvious, the thoughts that bedevilled them both.

Monsieur Artois nodded. 'She has much to recover from and I do not think we can speed anything along more than we are.'

'I had hoped she would be spurred on by the marquis' imminent return,' Mathilde said. 'But it seems to upset her more than please her.'

'Indeed,' Monsieur Artois nodded. 'I assume she is worried by his reaction to her sad state, especially as he did not take her to the wedding.'

'She no longer knows how he feels about her,' Mathilde agreed. 'She remains most unhappy in her heart.'

'Which is stopping her full recovery.'

'We need more time,' Mathilde said.

Monsieur Artois smiled. 'Perhaps we should pray for a delay in their return, a minor accident to give us a little more time to return her to health.'

Mathilde sighed. 'I wonder if she will ever return to the girl she was.'

Monsieur Artois shook his head. 'What could our Valentine go back to, my dear? What life does she have anywhere else?'

'But she will have to, eventually,' noted Mathilde.

There was no happy delay to the return of the marquis and the dowager. As indicated in their letters, they arrived at noon one sunny Wednesday, sweeping into the forecourt of the chateau with a clattering of hooves and a rustling of servants preparing to greet the master on his return. Guy alighted from the carriage with a broad smile on his face, clearly pleased to be home. He greeted his servants warmly and strode into the house, his mother following behind on Jacques' arm.

Mathilde waited a day or so to let her mistress adjust to being home and sought an early audience with the dowager.

'Valentine has been quite ill, madam.'

Elise nodded, only cursorily interested it seemed.

'A chill we think, from which she took too long to recover.'

'Did you send for the doctor?'

'No, madam.' Mathilde considered matters for a moment before speaking once more. 'Madam, Valentine was sick to her heart with sadness. She loves your son with all her being and felt abandoned when you left for the wedding.'

Elise looked sharply at Mathilde. 'Thank you for telling me this, Mathilde. These matters are never easy, you know that. Do you want me to do something?'

'If you could caution the marquis to be gentle with her, at least until she regains her strength?'

Elise nodded. 'I am fond of the girl too, Mathilde. It is not only you who cares for her. I wish this wretched business was not part of our lives. I can only suggest, you know. He may be my son but he is the marquis and I am only his mother. Although I must caution you, he has not returned from his travels easy in his mind. I fear his friends have not had a pleasing influence on him during our time away.'

Mathilde bowed. 'Thank you, madam, for your time; for allowing me to speak boldly.'

Elise smiled. 'Thank you, Mathilde for allowing me to speak freely. I know I can trust your discretion in all manners. We need to pray to God. He will guide us all.'

The marquis visited Valentine on the second evening after his return. She had watched him arrive from the viewing seat above the grand entrance, found her heart lurch as she saw him again and wondered how long it would be before he came to her. She was anxious, knowing how poorly she would appear to him, how thin and ugly she had become. She was filled with an unsettling mix of dread and desire. She so wanted to be with him again, to feel him next to her, to listen to his soft voice, to be in his sweet company that she thought she would die if he ignored her again. She knew well enough that he would not come that first evening and braced herself for disappointment but on the second night as she heard his footsteps on the other side of the door she felt a surge of love, her heart beat faster and there was a return of warmth to her body and soul.

The key turned in her door and he stood smiling at her. She was so utterly happy to see him she nearly cried and had to take fierce control over her emotions but he allowed her to embrace him warmly.

'You have been ill,' he said holding her to look at her. 'This is not good, my dear. You cannot be ill the moment I go away.'

'Then don't go away again,' she cried.

He smiled at her youth. 'If only life were so easy. But life is for you.'

She laughed bitterly. What a fool he was: how was it that she loved him?

'Come, come,' he chided her. 'I am here now and that is all that matters. You cannot be jealous, it does not become you.'

'I was not jealous,' she said. 'Only terribly lonely.'

He could not look at her, her eyes were so full of pain. He longed to hold her close in his arms and explain his reasoning to her, to share his own loneliness, to tell her he would never let her out of his sight again. But would she understand what he had done, or why; or even thank him for it?

'Will you tell me all that happened?' she asked. 'So I can imagine it for myself, allow myself to be there through your eyes.'

He smiled. 'Of course. I am not such a good story teller as Mama, or Pierre, who sends his love, but I will do my best for you. There is a great deal to tell.'

'Then tell it slowly,' she said, moving her hand to his thigh, hard and slender in his new breeches. He relaxed immediately, thrilled to have her hand upon his body once more. 'I want to know every detail, of what you saw, and what the ladies wore and where you went. Oh, and all about the wedding. Was it a handsome wedding?'

He nodded, remembering something. 'I will tell you all. It will take a month and then, depending on what happens there will be a different story to tell.'

She looked at him quizzically.

'Now I want you to kiss me but very slowly and softly like you are a butterfly on a flower.'

That night he spoke of the journey to Vienna, of the tiresomeness of travel, how well the dowager endured the trials of such a trip. He spoke of the inns where they stayed, of the food and how none compared to the cooking at the chateau. He described the girls of the towns they passed through, showing how plain they were in their features and manners, none to compare to her.

When he lay down beside her and undid her gown he was horrified by her appearance. Her face had been thinner than he remembered, but her body was shrunken and lacking in the soft roundness he had come to love. Her breasts seemed like that of a girl at the beginning of her journey into womanhood. He touched her nevertheless, his need of her too much to be repulsed by her emaciation. He stroked her gently, kissing her neck and collarbone, her breasts, her lips, still warm and welcoming. Her body responded as a woman and soon he found he could close his eyes and imagine her as he had left her. He let his hands wander to her sex, reaching gently inside to touch his gold ring, to be reminded of her acceptance of him, of their bond.

'Good,' he murmured. 'It remains.'

'I will never remove it,' she said. 'Never.'

He moved onto her, resting his weight on his legs and arms, careful not to rest too heavily on her lest she break. He felt she might break. He entered her slowly, inching into a place he was not sure he would remember but he did. His erection hardening as he reached inside her. He stopped, rested in her, felt her warmth and sex tightening around him, quickly forgetting the girl in Vienna now that he was home again. He sighed and began his urgent moving, still with delicacy, still as if she were the most fragile porcelain doll but his desire was strong and he needed her, needed to move within her, needed to move her. He heard her little cries, her soft moan, which he had not heard before. It sent a thrill of electricity through him and he pushed quickly into her and was spent.

Afterwards he kissed her mouth and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. He left her in the morning promising they would have supper together.

'Don't promise if you will break your word,' she said, emboldened from the night.

'You are right. I will not break my word to you. I promise we will dine together this evening. You need feeding up and I will order a special meal. I will call for you at seven.'

Valentine dressed with care, ensuring her gold heart was resting on her bosom. She wore the diamond bracelet but no other form of adornment save for two combs with pearls and crystals to arrange her hair. She wore a modest dress of pale blue from her early days at the chateau that almost fit her. She was surprised herself by how thin she had become. But with the return of the marquis and his kindness to her she felt some of her appetites returning. Last night she had not wanted him to make love to her, had not wanted to think about what had happened in that part of her body last. But his passion had aroused hers again and she wanted to please him once more.

Promptly at seven he knocked at her door and instead of dining in his rooms he escorted her to a secret room at the top of the chateau, at the top of the corner tower. Inside awaited a feast with servants who usually waited in the main dining areas, not just Jacques to serve them or Guy's page. The table was laid with the best cutlery, the best crystal glasses and a new dining service bought in Vienna. It was a pale pink with gold pictures of butterflies, birds and ponds in a repeating pattern made from the finest porcelain.

The waiter seated Valentine at the table such that she could look across the whole estate from the windows. She gasped with pleasure at the scene, the flowers in the room and the warmth from the fire making her glow with a happiness she had not felt for months.

'This service is divine,' she said lifting the soup bowl to examine closely before it was filled from a large tureen in the same pattern.

'I bought it for you. When supper is complete the servants will clean it and pack it away for your exclusive use. I will have it brought to your rooms.'

Her eyes shone. It was the loveliest gift, even better than the jewels and dresses he had given her. 'Really, you bought this for me?'

'I saw it while shopping with Mama and I was determined you should have something lovely from the trip. I knew how disappointed you were not to be at the wedding. I hope this might make it up to you along with dining here. This is a very special place, used rarely.' He raised his champagne glass to her. 'Valentine, my sweet Valentine, the loveliest girl in Europe. I tell you this as truth, an absolute truth after attending Alexei's wedding where every beautiful princess and duchess from across the continent was in attendance. You would have shamed them all.' I should have taken her, he thought, I would have been the envy of the entire world and made an enemy of Alexei for life. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

Dinner was rich and delicious: vegetable soup, followed by roast duck stuffed with chestnuts, then venison with roast vegetables, a crème brulee and then some cheese to have with the cointreau. Valentine ate everything that was dished up to her, making the marquis smile with pure delight. 'I will have you well and beautiful again,' he said. 'You may eat as many meals like this as you desire.'

The servants cleared the room and left them alone in the window seat. High above them the moon was clear and fat in the sky shining its silver light benevolently on the estate. 'Everything is mine as far as the eye can see in all directions,' he said. 'It is quite a responsibility.'

He kissed her and felt that all things were possible, that he only had to command and the world would fall at his feet, would do as he wished. He felt inside her bodice to where her breasts were soft and warm, her tiny nipples hardening at the pressure from his fingers. 'Have you dressed as I requested?' She nodded.

He stood up, taking her hands in his and kissing her open lips. 'Do you know what I want?' he asked. She nodded, undoing the flies on his breeches and massaging his penis in her hands, feathering his balls as she had learnt to do for the prince. The marquis sighed softly.

'Turn around and bend over.' He flung her dress and petticoats across her back, revealing her soft white bottom, tinier than before but as tempting as ever. He slapped it gently and pushed his fingers into her. 'Face the window,' he said. 'Brace yourself in the frame.' He pushed himself into her in one sure firm movement making her pull away from him, crying out. He grabbed her hips to hold her to him. 'You may make as much noise as you like. I find I rather like it and no-one can hear us from here.'

He found the new position, discovered on his travels, to be most agreeable, as it enabled him to move much deeper in Valentine, allowing a control that lying above her lacked. He was able to control his desire while building his anticipation. He guided her hips, adjusting the angle of her body to maximize penetration and sensation. She whimpered and moaned softly, cries caught between pleasure and pain. She was much more open to him this way and far softer and wetter than before. His balls tightened and his heart skipped faster. He moved from leisurely strokes to more powerful ones, her hips now moving in sympathy to his needs, her soft flesh meeting his hard desire. He drove deep into in one powerful movement and was satisfied. He stood for a moment looking across his lands, resting his manhood inside her, feeling the power of his position.

They sat in the window seat in a gentle embrace, Valentine's head resting on the marquis' chest. She felt the strength of his arms around her and found the rhythmic beat of his heart reassuring. She felt safe again, as if anything was possible, that dreams could come true, that she could allow herself to dream again.

Mathilde was waiting for Valentine as she returned from the tower, escorted by the marquis to her door. She had been given new instructions from Jacques and had to inform Valentine as she returned from dining with the marquis. Mathilde helped Valentine from her dress and petticoats, helping her into her nightgown and leading her to her bed.

Valentine looked at her friend. 'What is happening, Mathilde, we have not cleansed?'

Mathilde bowed her head. 'You are instructed not to. The marquis is conducting an experiment. He wishes to see what will happen if you do not take precautions for a month.'

Valentine sat heavily on the bed. 'He wants a child?' she whispered.

Mathilde nodded. 'Jacques seems to think so. His friends were not so kind to him while he was away. Much was made of the fact that you have not born him a child, and his manhood was impuned.'

'But I am not ready, Mathilde, not after...'

Mathilde took her hand. 'I know my dear, but what can we do? We cannot tell anyone what happened. You must, as always, do as you have been bid.'

'And what happens if there is no child within the month?'

Mathilde shook her head. 'Your bond is for one thousand days. I have never heard of it being broken in all these years.'

The marquis did not speak openly to Valentine of his desires. He visited her every evening, telling tales of his time away as promised, painting beautiful pictures with words of a world Valentine could only imagine, could only hope to be a part of. They played cards and dined together; he walked out with her in the day and took her riding for the first time, admiring her skills. They danced in the ballroom and she read him poetry in the library.

He let her moan and cry out as he busied himself within her, experimenting with different positions and places to make love. He developed an affection for the rug in front of the fire and was as fond of her sitting astride him as he was of lying above her.

Under such consistent attention and affection she returned to health, her skin resumed its golden glow and her flesh was resuming its pleasing shape. He loved to look upon her, and just as the prince had done, often commanded her to be naked for their intimate suppers. He, however, did not want her subjected to the gaze of others, so her nakedness was only for him.

Mathilde watched with caution. It was wonderful to see Valentine so happy and so well again. But she feared she was not well enough for a baby. The loss of the other child had been too recent and she was not sure that Valentine's womb was healed, nor that the girl herself was ready. How could she now try for a baby having so desperately wished one away? Was she now praying for a child? Did she think God was still listening to her?

But each day that passed brought the end of the month closer and there was little sign of Valentine preparing for her monthly bleed. Cautiously Mathilde watched the calendar, checking the sheets, trying not to pry.

But it came, the monthly reassurance of her womanhood arrived and with it floods of tears, instead of the usual sense of relief. Mathilde found Valentine sobbing in her bed, frightened once more and utterly miserable.

'What will he do, Mathilde? What will he do now?'

Mathilde held Valentine close, rocking her as if she was a child again, letting her sob her heart out. The older woman had to stop herself from crying too. She loved Valentine as if she was her own but Mathilde's love for Valentine was not enough to protect the poor girl from the whims of life. She held the shivering girl close and wondered what would happen next.

Mathilde informed Jacques with great sadness. He too was unhappy with the news. 'Nothing goes well for us in this matter,' he confided. 'If the marquis was more his own master we might all find life more endurable.'

'What will happen to Valentine?' Mathilde asked.

Jacques shrugged. 'The contract is the contract. She will suffer his displeasure for a while. How long and in what way I cannot say. It is the rest of us I worry for. When he is happy we are all happy. When he is sad we all suffer and his temper rules him.'

Arrangements were quickly made and the marquis left the chateau that evening. He left without a word to Valentine, left her alone and abandoned once more.

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