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“There are many roads to power, none of them paved with virtue."

—Marian Fitzroy

G iven the season was still in full swing, Peregrine Fitzroy celebrated the birthday that marked his age of majority quietly. His final exams and farewells at Oxford began a few days after, giving him enough time to join his mother in London for a few last events.

It was to be a brief taste of the adulthood that was now his to become. There were people to meet, places to be seen—and most importantly, legal matters to attend to.

As he rode into London, the world seemed both exciting and full of new responsibilities. By now, the marriage market would have been thoroughly picked over, but the smiles he drew from women walking promised that next season would be… eventful.

His mother and sister greeted him at the door of the estate home. At thirteen, his sister Lark was just beginning to bloom, and Marian looked both lovely and gracious as she welcomed her son.

“Perry,” she greeted him, stroking a hand over her son’s cheek. “I am so proud of you, my love. Where did the time go? You have become such a handsome, capable man when I was not looking.”

Peregrine held his hand over his mother’s, leaning into her touch as he looked down at his mama.

It still seemed strange to him, to look down at her from the greater height he had sprouted around his eighteenth year.

“I think I would owe both to you, Mama ,” he teased her, his heart full as he tweaked a strand of the bright blonde hair that framed her face.

Hair so much like his sister’s. And his own.

His mother gave him a small, knowing smile. It was a bittersweet moment. At one and twenty, the trust that held the Fitzroy family assets for the last five years needed to be closed and transferred to him. It was the largest part of why he had bothered rushing to London.

The estate had thrived since his father’s death.

His mother’s acumen was far sharper and more canny than the former lord’s.

Perry had respected his father, but he had to admit the man had no head for investment.

Fortunately for him, his mother was still capable and willing to help him learn the ropes.

Perry spent his homecoming enjoying the reunion with his family. His appointment with Grenville was for the following day.

As he set off to meet the old family solicitor, his mother pressed a small bottle into his hands.

“A thank you from me to Mr Grenville for assisting you with everything. Plum cordial,” she explained.

“Mr Grenville adores it. If he offers to share it with you, be sure to decline—we have plenty; he does not need to share his gift.”

Peregrine wrinkled his nose. “I would pass in any event. Plum cordial is foul. ”

Marian laughed. “I agree. But there is no accounting for certain tastes.”

He visited the solicitor at his office on Great Ormond Street, carrying his mother’s gift, and was greeted by a clerk barely older than himself when he knocked on the blue-painted door. Mr Grenville pulled off his spectacles when Peregrine entered his office.

“My goodness. Little Lord Fitzroy, no longer so little,” Mr Grenville laughed as he rose and offered his hand. “Your father would be pleased at the man you’ve become—but between you and me, it’s a good thing you are the spitting image of your mother.”

Peregrine chuckled and shook the solicitor’s hand warmly, not offended. Robin Fitzroy had been many things, but handsome had not been one of them—nor charming, nor particularly clever. These things Perry had been taught by his mother.

Mr Grenville accepted his gift and spent the next hour generously walking him through the paperwork and some of the details of the Fitzroy holdings.

It was painstaking work, and Grenville talked himself dry enough that he helped himself to the cordial, which emanated the sweet, spicy smell of plum mixed with cinnamon and cloves.

Finally, towards the end of their appointment, Grenville closed the ledgers he was about to hand over, running one hand over his chest thoughtfully.

“I should let you know, while I was examining the books for closing the trust, I found a few… oddities I could not reconcile. A few regular payments to names not part of the land or household staff. A property that was held under two separate instruments—most likely, a clerical issue.”

He lifted his hand in caution, indicating it was a small matter. “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, but look more closely. If you ever wish to review anything outside these formal meetings, I’m at your disposal, my lord. ”

“Thank you. Your assistance has been invaluable, Grenville,” Perry said honestly. Still, he worried that Grenville had discovered one of his mother’s… creative investments.

His mother had taught him years ago that a little bloodless corruption was the way of the aristocracy. Nothing to fuss over. Indeed, it had restored the bankrupt Fitzroy estate, paid for his education, and given his sister clothing. A dowry. The things she would need to live a proper life.

“Mr Grenville… are you unwell?” he asked the solicitor, who was looking peaked.

The man shook that off and stood, his brow dotted with sweat. “I am tired. The joys of advancing age. It was such a pleasure seeing you again, Lord Fitzroy.” The man smiled genially at him, patting the back of Perry’s hand as he shook it once again.

“Mother, did you know Mr Grenville was looking into your investments?” he asked her quietly when he returned home that evening.

“Of course, Perry,” she replied, her voice distant. Unconcerned. “That would be what he was employed to do. Do not worry, love. I am sure things will sort themselves out properly.”

Mr Grenville’s death was in the paper the very next day.

“The poor man, it must have been his heart,” his mother said, shaking her head in regret when he let her know the news.

Peregrine, who at this point was still very innocent—but not at all ignorant—of his mother’s shadowy business and ambitious nature, immediately found the timing suspicious. Especially given her words and gift to Grenville the previous eve.

His mother had begun studying the medical aspects of botany, which most physicians treated as country superstition, sometime around the time his father had fallen ill. He had always assumed that she had taken up the hobby to find a cure for her husband .

But a distressing connection formed within his mind: What if the mysterious illness that had put the heavy-handed Robin Fitzroy in bed for so many years had happened after her studies began, not before?

“Tell me you did not have something to do with this,” he begged, hoping his logic was faulty.

Marian Fitzroy’s face lost its careful animation, and the hair on Peregrine’s neck stood on end, sensing something dark and eldritch in her eyes. “ I did not.”

“Mother!” he hissed, concerned by her emphasis. Horrified. Questionable trade and pulling strings for opportunities might have made the law raise an eyebrow, but no harm was done to anyone. “Murder—it could ruin us.”

“Yes. It could,” she replied calmly. Coldly.

“I trust you remember by whose hand he died, and be careful. If you speak, there will be consequences for us all. But mostly for you and your sister. Grow accustomed to the idea you will sometimes have to do distasteful tasks to protect the family, just as I have for all these years.”

A threat. She had put the weapon in his hand, very much on purpose, to bind him to her will.

Perry hadn’t the first idea who his mother was. He realised he never had. She had picked him up like a tool, and used him without remorse.

God. He had killed an innocent man.

The sense of revulsion and betrayal was so great, Peregrine wanted to vomit. “You used me. Without my consent. You forced me to do this . And now Grenville’s blood is on my hands.”

That day, Peregrine got his first close look at the monster that lived beneath Marian Fitzroy’s husk. And it would sometimes cause him to wake in the night, sweating and terrified, for years afterwards .

“I held you close, whispered that you were my heart. My joy. You enjoyed every comfort, and it never occurred to you to doubt my will until now. That’s the brilliance of using someone’s love as a leash, my darling.

And now you will be a good boy and remember to obey your mother, because you are mine—body and soul. ”