Silke doubted that Galt would go through with the wedding, but she kept that to herself. Until such time he called off the engagement, which she believed was ultimately inevitable, they would make all the necessary preparations. The ring was the first step, of course, followed by discussions with her family, about which she was not terribly concerned. Her father had always made it abundantly clear he would support her decisions and, so long as her fiance appeared respectable enough, he would not object. Vincent would be more challenging, as he took his role as overprotective brother far too seriously. Though he'd be hyper-critical of any man asking for his sister's hand in marriage, and would make threats about breaking her heart, he capitulated to her sensibility on matters of importance. Where she predicted a future rejection was when the former thief fully realized her flaws.

A sideways glance told her that he was still basking in the glow of their relatively new acquaintance. Regardless of how neatly he had set her upon a pedestal in his mind, she wasn't capable of maintaining that position. She carried emotional baggage. What she lacked in scandalous history, she made up for with haunting memories, a morbid sense of humor, a martyr complex that would literally be the death of her some day, and an irrepressible drive to push herself to the brink of disaster, to handle everything by herself every waking hour, without relief. Galt probably saw her as in infallibly strong, charming young lady, when the truth was infinitely more complex.

Beneath his touch, her hand was warm- [i]too[/i] warm. Silke had been under the weather for longer than she'd admit. Tempting as it was to blame her mild fever on the rain, her immune system was battered and worn from sleeping less than half as much as she should and hardly touching her meals. The fact that she was coherent and upright was a testament to her stubborn willfulness and determination. Now that she was cold, waterlogged by the rain, and drying slowly and unevenly, making her even more weaker, the wretched illness had tightened its grip upon her mercilessly. She bit back a cough as she tried to remain focused on the conversation.

"It's fine, I'm used to handling everything," she remarked a little more wryly then she meant. When she was with her father or Vincent they were oblivious to the vaguest hint of bitterness in her tone, the fatigue that she was the anchor to their little ship during every storm, that they lived in the luxury she forged relentlessly. They weren't unappreciative. Given the opportunity they sang her praises- [i]loudly[/i]- to anyone and everyone. The issue was that they never became any more capable at shouldering the burdens. No matter how thoughtful and sweet they were, they still heavily relied upon her.

Running a hand through some loose lockets of hair and smoothing them back behind her ears, she sighed. "I apologize, I didn't mean to be curt. I'm not worried about you... I'm not sure if I know how to share duties anymore. It feels as if I've been doing everything alone for ages now," Silke said with an apologetic smile. "Asking you to handle potential vendors would be throwing you to the wolves- they'll see a new nobleman as an easy mark, and they bluff and bluster better than I can dance, which I assure you is quite the feat. The social engagements are even more tricky to navigate, although there's one baron who pretends to be a simple-minded fop, putting on airs of stupidity so he doesn't have to deal with their rules of etiquette. It's a ruse, but one rarely seen through, and his acting is so superb, and the aristocrats too proud to admit they've been fooled, now everyone lets him commit a faux pas without blinking an eye."