A/N: This is only my second fanfic and I still get nervous about posting stuff. I would be grateful for any feedback, good or bad (as long as the bad is constructive) :)
Angelique Bouchard sat in a chair by the window of her drawing room, a little baby sleeping peacefully in her arms. She looked down at her daughter's small round face and smiled to herself. Five week old Clarisse looked just like her parents, already having thick dark hair and eyes that were a clear shade of grey. It was shame her father couldn't see her. Well, not yet anyway. She had already decided that in a few weeks she would leave the 18th century and head back to the 1900s. She was fed up with the lack of technology in this era. There wasn't even a light bulb. That wouldn't come for at least another century yet. She couldn't let her little Clarisse be brought up in this era. Yes, being the daughter of a vampire and a witch made her immortal, but she would still grow up with no education and only being able to sew and do 'womanly things'. Angelique couldn't allow that. Clarisse deserved the best, and with the portraits Angelique had commissioned of herself, she could travel to any one of the times when they had been painted. The paintings hung in her office in Collinsport, 1972. From there, she could go anywhere she wished.
All Angelique had to do to get there was to use the portrait hanging opposite her on the wall. She remembered posing for it; standing there in her gorgeous black gown with her bare shoulders freezing in the winter's chill. She had loved that gown, but it had not been the wisest choice to wear it during the winter months.
Clarisse stirred in her arms and, looking down she saw that those clear grey eyes were watching her with fascination. She nearly chuckled. The expression on her face was so much like her father's.
"Hello, little one," she whispered, reaching out a finger to stroke her soft, little cheek, but before she could do that, a small hand fisted round it. Angelique smiled. Gently, she attempted to pull her finger away, but the little girl only gripped it tighter. She let it be until Clarisse started to pull the finger towards her mouth.
"Oh no you don't, missy," Angelique scolded lightly and succeeded in pulling her finger away from the Clarisse's hand before letting out a little laugh and leaning down to gently place a kiss on her daughter's forehead. It seemed that she was turning out to be a stubborn little thing, just like her mother.
She hadn't realised how rewarding being a mother was. Moments like this made her glad that she hadn't properly died that night in 1972 and that she had stuck with her pregnancy. When she had first found out, she had panicked at the thought of the responsibility of having a child and loving it and had been sorely tempted to find some way of getting rid of the thing in her stomach. She wouldn't dare think about doing it now. It seemed like Clarisse was all she had left. Her lover had thought she had no heart and everybody else in 1972 would have hated her for being a witch and causing havoc at the Collin's mansion, had she lived. Yet she was still going to go back. For Clarisse. She would keep her dark hair this time and give herself a different name. She had decided that Naomi Babineaux had a nice ring to it and Babineaux went well with Clarisse.
"What would you like to eat, miss?"
Angelique started at the voice and turned her head to where a serving girl stood in the doorway.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking, Lucie?"
"Sorry, miss." The young girl hung her head.
"But I will go and speak to Mrs Wallis myself. Could you just watch Clarisse for a few minutes please?"
"Yes, of course, miss!" the girl beamed.
Angelique smiled and handed her daughter over to Lucie. She knew the household had already taken to Clarisse.
Then she turned and walked out of the room. Just as she shut the door, she witnessed Lucie cooing over her daughter and Clarisse was smiling and reaching up her arms to hold on to the older girl. Quietly, she left them to it.