Mary sat staring at the ceiling, the intricate pattern of the medallion on the dome above them capturing her attention. It would make a lovely pattern for a cushion or on a counterpane, she thought it would lovely on the unused chairs in the formal dining room that they never used. In her hands, she had two knitting needles that she clicked together in a familiar comforting rhythm, knit 2, knit 2 together, yarn over, repeat to the end, then knit 1. It was a simple shawl in a soft white that would look lovely for Christmas for Charles' doll.
She looked down, she had dropped a stitch. A small noise of distress leaving her caused Ciaran to turn his head sharply to look at her, if she ruined his evening he would be very cross with her. That was something she didn't want, he squeezed her
