Isaac's tone may have been light, but Marcus fought not to jerk on the yarn, and swore under his breath when the fresh tension snapped it and he had to work to repair it again. "Isolde's perfect," he said quietly, all intent focus on the yarn. "Don't like the social shite. Hate all that talk and nattering on. She's the public face, I do this. We work." Or they would, if they had children, a reminder his mother gave him often.
Marcus could feel the raw edges of this conversation nipping at his calm. But there was something about this room, this place, that kept his deeper furies away. It had always been a place that could calm him simply by being here, and somehow that kept him talking now, feeling like he was peeling layer after layer of skin away. But it didn't mean he had to look at Isaac, the feel of yarn and the whisper of the wheel helping keep him centered.
"Sounded like you liked working with the plants with her. S'no need for help here. I've got it well enough." One shoulder shrugged. "Fine. I'll show you the library later. There're Quidditch books." And even more on Herbology, and a few on sheep farming. Not to mention the books of knitting patterns and techniques, two books on quilting that he hadn't had a chance to go through, and an entire notebook of information and clippings on dying wool that he'd been working his way through experimenting with.