There was nothing here that would hint at either the dirty smiles of her antagonist or the charming chattiness of the young aristocrat so well embraced by her father. Even his awareness of her, otherwise a suffocating constant like a corset laced overtight, had been subsumed in his absolute concentration.
“I will take care of that,” he said. “You will prefer to choose the stationery and the flowers?”
His face was smooth, perfectly shaven, no missed patches, no nicks or cuts. He couldn’t possibly afford a gentleman’s gentleman on his wages, so he must have shaved himself, standing before a mirror in his under-shirt.
With something that was almost a shudder she realized that she had no problem at all imagining him in dishabille.
“Miss Bessler?”
“I’m sorry. What did you say again?”
The glance he cast her was one of faint disapproval, much as a schoolmaster would look upon an absentminded pupil. “The flowers and—”
“Yes, I would. The flowers and the stationery, that is.”
And so they went down the list, Lizzy now fully alert and vigilant against any unruly caprices of her mind.
“That is everything I have,” he said, at the end of forty-five minutes.
They’d been extremely efficient. He was thorough and thoroughly organized. But she was not in the habit of ceding anything to him. “I’m surprised you’ve made no mention of the decorations. Surely something more than a few floral arrangements is required.”
“I’ve thought about it,” he said.
“And?”
He looked at her for the first time since they sat down. “And I’ve produced some sketches.”
She raised a brow. “Indeed?”
He dug into the document case he’d brought with him, pulled out a portfolio, and handed it to her with no more care than he’d have passed along a week-old newspaper. “They were a pleasant diversion,” he said.
Inside the portfolio were a dozen or so drawings, mostly done in pencil, a few in watercolor. The first was of the front steps of a church. Small topiary trees trimmed to perfect spheres graced the ends of each step; the ribbons tied to their slender trunks fluttering prettily in the breeze. The next drawing depicted pews of a church, as viewed from the nave. A gauzy fabric—tulle or organza—had been gathered into a long garland that draped from pew to pew, pinned with bouquets of cool white gardenias.
The church took up two more drawings. Then came several sheets of smaller images, three or four to a sheet—details on a wreath that would hang over the church door, engraving on a silver cake knife, a boutonniere of lily of the valley blossoms laid against a feathery leaf of fern. Then two views of the bridal carriage and, to finish off the collection, an arch of flowers set behind the head table at the wedding breakfast.
The drawings were exquisite. She blinked and shuffled through them again. No, alas, her eyes had not played a trick on her. “They are—they are beautiful,” she was forced to admit.
She thought she sensed an easing of tension in him—but was that her imagination? Had he been tense at all? Was it even possible that he of all people would wait with bated breath to see whether she approved of his efforts?
“Keep them if you’d like,” he said, nothing but politeness in his voice. “The wedding is yours.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then, with more reluctance, “You’ve gone quite above and beyond the call of duty.”
He rose. “It was a tremendous honor for Mr. Somerset to entrust the planning of his wedding to me. I’ve every intention of making it one that will be remembered for years to come.”
There was something strange to his expression. A random thought flicked through her mind and quite stupefied her. Could Mr. Marsden be in love with Stuart? Could that be the reason behind his dislike of her?
She’d been waiting for their consultation to finish before bringing up the matter of Mr. Marsden’s past scandal. But now she was too astonished to do anything but rise and shake his hand as he took his leave of her.
When Mr. Marsden was gone, she sat down and reexamined the drawings. She wasn’t always in agreement with his choices of colors and flowers, but she was continually charmed by his use of familiar elements to conjure something fresh and original.
The designs would have taken hours, many hours. It had been only a few days ago that Stuart had officially assigned Mr. Marsden to help her. He would have had to work deep into the night to draft, alter, then finalize the details. Had he done it for the love of his employer?
It would have been a greater love than she’d ever known.
She dismissed the thought. She was already too fortunate; she did not deserve to want more. The solid affection she shared with Stuart would only deepen with the passage of time. Their marriage would be the envy of many.