Prologue
BELIZE
Dolls, ribbons, and pretty things were nothing new. She always bought Corin those, just like her own mother used to.
On each birthday, Belize wanted Corin to have something of hers. She sat down to write. The sharp nib of the fountain pen wounded the delicate paper, scented with jasmine and pearβher signature perfume.
She had the impulse to use her blood as ink but stopped. Gordon would not approve. He was more careful with Corin than she was, thinking her ways too brisk for a child.
But what does he know? He is a man.
Belize made a rose, not a doll. Petals and thorns. Equal parts beauty and danger. Someone they would love and bleed for.
She started her letter the same way she did every year:
To my rose,
Happy ninth birthday, my perfect girl.
I cut the roses to pieces this morning. There is only one left now in the garden. Beneath it, youβll find a key. Itβs for a house I got for you.
Belgrove.
Just one of the many things youβll get as my daughter and a Clarendon.
I refused to give your father a son. I gave him an heir. Last night, Gordon named you successor in his will. He has always wanted you to become like him.
My sole rose. My beautiful creation.
Do not forget who you are.
Always,
Mummy
Everyone would love her, she was sureβjust as much as they would fear her. A Spencer and a Clarendon in one.
