White on white is as difficult to see as black on black and she's done countless tiny black stitches as she once made her own uniforms and mended them as necessary. She's laid out hems and laid out waists as she aged and grew. The aprons she once wore were white and as she rose in rank she would embellish them with broderie anglaise. But that was a long time ago.

The needle slides through the cotton with ease, the thread barely showing on the fabric. The stitches are small and perfectly spaced; the C's swirl together in perfect harmony. She carefully pricks her needle into the fabric and leans back against the softness of his chair. The fire is flickering and she is waiting for him to return home from a conference with Mr Barrow. Every free moment she's had since their circumstances changed, she's worked on the things young women gather to set up house with.

This sheet is the last and then her task will be completed. There had been times she cursed herself for coming up with such an intricate design, but whenever she finished one, she'd been filled with joy. A soft, tender, happy feeling that warmed her and filled her with thankfulness.

She takes a breath and returns to her embroidery. The clock ticks softly in the background and the fire crackles in front of her. The minutes pass by without a hurry as she finishes the monogram. As she snips the final thread, she hears the front door. The sounds of her husband arriving home already so familiar: the closing of the door and securing the latch and the way he shrugs out of his coat and takes of his shoes.

"I'm home!" he calls and she smiles to herself, putting down the sheet and getting up from the chair.

"You took your time. Is everything alright?"

He is rubbing his hands as he comes through into the parlour and goes straight to her to kiss her cheek.

"You cannot expect anyone to become a sommelier in just a few weeks. It takes time." He sits down in the other chair and stretches his legs out to the fire, warming his feet.

"You're enjoying teaching Thomas." Elsie assesses and she pours him a cup of tea.

"It's a bit cold, mind," she says as she hands him the cup.

"What have you been up to?"

He drinks his tea as she picks up the sheet and shows it to him. He traces the C's with his little finger.

"Beautifully done. I never knew you could do this." He looks up at her and smiles, his affection clear to her and her hard work appreciated.

"I'm glad you like it," she replies and worries her lip.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Nothing much. Not really. I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to help me make the bed with this new sheet."

The twinkle in his eyes tells her he's completely understood her meaning.
As she knew he would.