As she slid demurely into the room behind the first-class passengers, Etta allowed herself a hint of a smile.  It was satisfying to see Lord Wentworth jam his cigar case back into his jacket pocket.  Solid gold, of course.
Her smile faded when she noticed him admire the curves of her dress while his wife was taken in by the view.  Wentworth had expensive taste, but he liked to slum it when he philandered.  She sat primly at the piano and began a concerto for launch.
She prayed Trevor would keep the Lord occupied.  She’d deal with him later.

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