“My stars,” she purrs. The triple loop of pearls in her auburn chignon bounce like a butterfly wing. A dress in the popular but boring color of taupe drapes her form, topped by a fox stole with its still-attached legs hanging as limp as four tiny gloves. I’m not sure why anyone would want to carry around a dead fox like that, except maybe to scare away birds or small children. She angles herself for a look under my coat.

Captain Smith presses his hands to his thighs. “Mrs. Sloane, I presume?”

“Yes. How do you do, Captain Smith?” I say in the stately voice Mrs. Sloane used to greet men of her same station.

Captain Smith snaps his heels together. “Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Lady Lucy Duff-Gordon, may I present to you Mrs. Amberly Sloane?”

The woman doles out a smile as thin as a Communion wafer. “Please call me Lucy.”

I suck in a breath. This is the famous dressmaker of the Lucile brand. I glance at April sitting thirty feet away, and she pulls her fists across her chest, miming taking off a coat. She even shimmies her shoulders. No doubt she already knows who this couple is.

Lucy extends a hand as limp as a leg of her fox stole, and I press it with my own.

Her husband lifts his wineglass and bends as if to get a closer look at me, but I shrink back. “Pleasure to meet you.” His longhorn mustache flaps when he speaks, and a Scottish accent rounds his words.

“The pleasure is all mine.” As casually as possible, I slide off my coat and roll back my shoulders. My kimono comes alive. Its tiny beads catch the light from the bowl chandeliers, spinning shadows onto the ombre silk. I shift my weight, and the fabric ripples like water during low tide.

Lucy clutches at her husband, nearly spilling his wine, her eyes taking huge bites of my dress. I hope April is enjoying this.

The captain’s white eyebrows bend toward each other, like two hands praying. “Madam, I wanted to apologize personally for the mix-up with your room. I assure you, someone will answer for this grave, er”—the captain’s skin blooms—“I mean, serious error.”

My stomach does a backflip, knowing that someone might very well be me.

He gestures with broad sweeps of his arms, used to conducting crew and passengers alike. “If there’s anything we can do to help put this oversight behind us, please let us know.”

Here’s my chance. It isn’t going to get better than this. I remove a handkerchief from my coat pocket and sniff daintily into it. “I thank you for your kindness, Captain Smith, but I only require time and space to heal.”

“Understandable. Lucy was just telling us about her latest—”