** FITZ POV **
Sitting in his tobacco soaked study, clutching a glass of brandy is the absolute last place on earth I want to be. Huge bookshelves crammed with leather tomes, dark red velvet curtains and leather seats remind me of the gentleman’s clubs in London. I was not a member of any such establishment, though I was often required to haul my brother away from them in times gone by.
The Duke of Tarrick repulses me in every way. He is dressed in such finery, surrounded by opulence and received the finest education and tutelage in the country. Yet, once amongst men he seems to regress. From a gentleman to a toad. His flimsy frail frame drowns in his tailored waistcoats and shirts.
Weight is dropping from him, his hands shake and I hear when his back spasms the cries can be he
