Someone to Watch Over Me by Lisa Kleypas Page A

the puffs of black silk that edged the hem of the flowing skirt. It was an elegant garment, suitable for any lady of quality. Vivien was relieved to discover that she owned some clothes that did not proclaim “courtesan” to everyone who saw her.
    “Thank goodness,” she murmured, giving Mary and Mrs. Buttons a self-deprecating smile. “I feel nearly respectable.”
    “If you please, Miss Duvall,” Mary said, “I should like to brush out your hair and pin it up proper. You’ll look every inch the fine lady then—and won’t Mr. Morgan be pleased to see you turned out so well!”
    “Thank you, Mary.” Vivien made her way to the dressing table, pausing to pick up the length of damp toweling discarded from her bath.
    “No, no,” the maid scolded, rushing forward at the same time that Mrs. Buttons did. “I’ve told you, Miss Duvall, you’re not to help me with such things!”
    Vivien surrendered the towel with a sheepish smile. “I can pick up the linens just as easily as you can.”
    “But it’s not your place,” Mary said, ushering her toward the dressing-table chair.
    Mrs. Buttons stood close to Vivien, meeting her gaze in the mirror. The housekeeper smiled pleasantly, but her eyes were speculative. “I don’t believe you’re accustomed to being waited on,” she remarked.
    Vivien sighed. “I don’t remember what I’m accustomed to.”
    “A lady with servants would never think to straighten a room or pour her own bath, even if she forgot every blessed fact in her head.”
    “But I know I had servants.” Vivien picked up a stray hairpin from the little box Mary had brought, and traced the crimped edge. “At least, I did according to Mr. Morgan. I was a spoiled creature who did nothing except…” She stopped and frowned in confusion.
    Mrs. Buttons watched as Mary brushed out the shining length of Vivien’s rich red hair. “You certainly don’t behave like a ‘spoiled creature,’” the housekeeper said. “And in my opinion some things about you would not change no matter what has happened to your memory.” She shrugged philosophically and smiled. “But then, I’m hardly a doctor. And I can scarcely keep order of what’s in my own head, much less divine what’s in someone else’s.”
    Mary dressed Vivien’s hair in a simple style, pinning a braided knot atop her head and allowing a few sunset wisps to curl around her neck and ears. Enjoying the feeling of being properly clothed and turned out, Vivien decided she would like to visit some other part of the house. “It would be a treat just to sit for a while in a room different from thisone,” she said. “Is there a small parlor or perhaps even a library downstairs? Does Mr. Morgan have a few books I might be able to look at?”
    For some reason the question caused the housekeeper and the maid to exchange a smile. “Just a few,” Mrs. Buttons replied. “I’ll show you to the library, Miss Duvall. But you must take care not to injure your ankle again, and you mustn’t tire yourself.”
    Eagerly Vivien took the woman’s arm, and they made their way downstairs step by careful step. The town house was exceptionally handsome, filled with dark panels of mahogany, thick English carpets underfoot, clean-lined Sheraton furniture, and fireplaces fitted with generous slabs of marble. As they approached the library, the air was rich with the smells of beeswax, leather, and vellum. Sniffing appreciatively, Vivien entered the room. She wandered to the center and turned a slow circle, her eyes wide with wonder.
    “One of the largest rooms in the house,” Mrs. Buttons said proudly. “Mr. Morgan spared no expense in housing his precious books in first-rate style.”
    Vivien stared reverently at the towering glass-fronted bookcases, the map cabinets embossed with gold letters, the marble busts positioned at each corner of the room. Her gaze fell to the tables loaded with books, many of them left open and piled atop each other, as if the reader