so my love is still fetter'd with vain hope

disclaimer: Dark Shadows is most certainly not owned by me.

Angelique had been born a witch, but she could have chosen not to exercise her powers. She did not make this choice. She knew she would not the first time someone hurt her – a little boy stole her doll and when she tried to get it back from him, he twisted her arm, trying to make her cry out in pain. She had refused, and upon arriving back at home, cast a spell that caused his spaniel to stray into the path of his father's hunting rifle.

This was after they had come to America – after she had first seen Barnabas Collins, the little boy with the life she wanted. She understood him and his brooding fits even as a child. His serious disposition; his attachment to Collinwood, the house in whose shadow she lived even as it was built; his very essence, all these parts of him made something sit deep within her. She and Barnabas belonged together. But for now, she was simply the French help who would smile at him furtively when he passed by.

At 14, she noticed him looking at her from time to time. She was scrubbing the floor in the main hall late one night, thinking of him and how they would reign over Collinsport, the noble young lord and his beautiful wife. "Je serai sa femme," she thought, pausing from her work for a moment as the vision of them living in this house together as equals, he worshiping the ground she walked on and she doting on him every moment, took hold of her.

A sudden movement caught the corner of her eye and she whipped around, expecting to see one of the idiot servant boys. Instead there he was. Barnabas, blushing furiously and looking in any direction but towards her.

"I—I—was looking…my gloves. The yellow ones. Have you seen them, Angelique?"

He knew her name. She waited until he became less flustered and finally looked at her. Holding his gaze, she said softly, "No, monsieur. Would you like me to look for them?"

He stared, mouth opening and closing but saying nothing, looking exactly like the teenage boy he was, when finally he snapped to. Standing straighter, he composed himself. "No, thank you. I am sure they are around and I have no great need for them at present." Nodding goodbye, he walked briskly out of the room.

Soon after their first conversation, he was sent away to school. Angelique amused herself with the local boys, solely so that she might become experienced enough when the time came for Barnabas to return. And return he did, at 19 years of age, as a quiet young man of some bearing – with a much greater interest in her than before.

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She was cleaning – always cleaning – in the study when she heard him come in. Pausing from her dusting of the piano, she turned, hands kept behind her back to allow no possible obstruction to the sight of her low-cut gown.

"Monsieur?"

Barnabas walked forward, confident and purposeful. He stopped just in front of her and, taking one of her hands in his, pressed it softly. "You like me, do you not, Angelique?"

She looked down, breathing a bit heavily. She had been expecting him for at least a week now, but to have her wishes of almost a decade coming true robbed her of some of her self-possession. She gasped as she felt his hand on her breast. At her sudden movement, he stepped back.

"I am so sorry – I have taken liberties I should n—" he was cut off as she took his hand and placed it there more firmly. They locked eyes for a long moment and then moved into each other, he pressing his body into hers with an urgency she had never before seen him display. She moaned softly, causing him to grip her waist tightly, his mouth hard against hers, his hand then moving down to her thigh, lifting and hooking it around him so he could step closer into her.

Her hands moved up, gripping his hair, pulling him closer. "Oh, mon cher, j'ai attendu ce moment—" she stopped with a gasp as he picked her up, her legs wrapping more tightly around him, and dropped her on the harpsichord keys. A monstrous chord resounded throughout the room, and their brief laughter was cut short by her questioning look, which he answered before she could speak with "My parents have stepped out – we are alone. I have instructed the servants that I wish to be left alone so I might do my work without interruption." She grinned and pulled him in again. He pulled back a moment, lifting the multiple layers of skirts and pushing them up around her waist. Pressing his hips into hers, they both hissed. Her nails lightly scraped against his scalp as he deftly pulled pins out of her hair, loosening the dark brown tresses and letting them fall back around her, his hands tangling in them.

She moved her hands down to his shoulders, then wrapped them around his middle as she tugged him closer, both of them groaning as he pressed more tightly into her and the pressure intensified. Pulling his head back with obvious difficulty, he looked into her darkened eyes and said "Angelique, is this something you are sure that you want?"

She looked back, loving every part of him, reveling in the fact he was here, with her, wanting her and no one else. She said nothing, but reached down and slowly undid the buttons of his breeches. He helped her and finally, ridding themselves of all hindrances, he pushed into her.

They stopped a moment, both coming to terms with the sheer sensorial pleasure of it. She was glad she had rid herself of the pain with those idiot boys. This was nothing but complete bliss as they felt themselves joined, and soon he began moving. She gripped his shoulders, unable to do more than withstand the waves of feeling coursing through her, but as he established a rhythm, she pulled him into a deep kiss, his mouth opening to allow her tongue in as she hummed, gently caressing his neck, his chest, knowing that he was hers, and knowing that he would never feel this way with another.

"Je t'aime," she whispered, and his movements became harder, faster. She whimpered as she got closer, and squeezed her legs more tightly around him as he groaned, thrusting one last time as she cried out.

After, they lay on the ground, her head resting in the nook between his arm and chest, his hand stilled on her waist. A worried look came into his eyes and she sat up, looking at him questioningly. Barnabas looked at her apologetically. "I am sorry, my dear, for allowing outside thoughts to come crowding in after so sublime an experience. I was merely worrying about my parents discovery of this incident, which would surely lead to your dismissal."

"I will say nothing, monsieur." She maintained a calm exterior, but a slow fire started burning inside her. He wanted to hide her? He wanted to hide what they had just experienced? But her more rational side reasoned that surely it would have to be slowly built up to. Barnabas would inherit a great estate, and the business that kept Collinsport afloat, so to speak. His parents would want him to marry someone with a dowry who could make the family even greater than they were. As she lay her head back against his chest, she smiled. She would make them greater than any family in the colonies, let alone in Maine.

The children of Barnabas and Angelique Collins would be captains of industry and leaders of men.