Though she had made the comparison, it felt odd to hear him refer to her as a tutor aloud. As best as she could tell, Galt wasn't that much older than her, if he was at all. Silke was torn between two trains of thought when it came to age. On one hand, more years under one's belt typically added to experience and worldliness, and it was easier for two individuals of comparable age to find a common ground than if there was a large gap. On the other hand, the time one spent on the earth did not always coincide with maturity. There were noblemen and noblewomen with all the wisdom of a spoiled toddler and teenage peasants who were as cunning and sharp as someone twice their age, if not more. Regardless, it was quickly becoming apparent that teaching one of her peers would be stranger in practice had anticipated when she crafted her plan.

Wandering thoughts about their dynamic were stopped cold as he continued to praise her on how she'd be an excellent wife, upping his compliment to include that she'd even be a great queen. Silke felt a pang of guilt for receiving such undeserved flattery. There was nothing she could say or do to politely dispel the illusion. What she felt were admissions she could only shamefully acknowledge in her mind, never state aloud, and certainly never in the company others. She couldn't speak of how she lay awake at night remembering the way her father's face twisted in grief for weeks as she picked up the shattered pieces of their life. Her parents had been madly in love and thus the loss of her mother had been devastating. When her brother died, the knife in her heart twisted, and she was convinced she was cursed. It was superstitious paranoia, but the 'expendable' people in her family had died except for her, and she could not shake the conviction she was next.

"I'm sure you'll be a quick study," she reassured him as she regained her footing in the conversation. It was far from traditional for a woman to be handling the finances of an estate. Silke wasn't aware of any other woman of her stature doing so unless they were a widow without a son or a male relative to provide assistance. She counted herself fortunate that she had been allowed the latitude to learn accounting. Being poor at a subject was one thing, so long as it was tried, but willful ignorance was rather repugnant to her.

The request for honesty took her for surprise and she faltered. Her horse, sensing her uneasiness, stamped the ground as her hesitation grew into a silence after that singular word question. She had always prided herself on her social skills. Generally she could sense what people truly wanted and appeal to them in kind. They would claim they wanted honesty, as Galt had, yet very rarely were they prepared for it. The truth, without tempering, softening, or warping, could be unkind, unforgiving, and unpleasant. Transparency exposed beauty and ugliness without bias, and Silke was not to arrogant to believe that she could be counted among the former only.

"I can understand your trepidation given your background," she began slowly. Galt's offer was tempting. If she would ever think to indulge such a proposal it would be to someone so roguishly handsome and charming. "Just as you fear you would disappoint me, so must I disappoint you. It would be too much to ask anyone to trust a stranger is genuinely acting out of friendliness," Silke continued, "but on personal matters... I can not provide absolute honestly. We all wrestle with ourselves, and what I keep to myself will not be related to you or my helping you."

It was the best Silke could offer. She didn't have friends, not the type of friends Galt was surely talking about. Of all the ladies that followed her skirts through every event, none of them had heart-to-heart conversations with her, shared her burdens, or stayed with her when she was sick. They cared about one another- just not intimately. They sent presents to one another for birthdays, gave advice, and provided company, but she'd struggle to call a single one a confidant. When Alistair died, so had her closest relationship, and perhaps she had not ever recovered enough to allow herself the vulnerability necessary to be a true friend.