“Perhaps it is time for a visit to the dressmakers.”
“Even if there were money for dresses, I certainly don’t have the time. The dinner is tonight.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Wells. I forgot to tell you. I’ve been invited to dine at the Walcotts’.”
“That’s wonderful, my dear. Are you and Miss Walcott finally warming to each other?”
Tess shot her an arched brow look. “Not as such. She invited Mr. Prince, and my invite was likely out of courtesy since she encountered us while we were together.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Well said in her usual knowing tone. “Miss Walcott has set her sights on your famous visitor, has she?”
“It seems so.”
“Many of the ladies will want his attention.” Mrs. Wells shrugged as she continued to sort through Tess’s rejected gowns. “And it makes a good deal of sense. He’s a curiosity. For a while, he’ll be the most interesting man in Wiggenstow.”
And then he’ll go back to London, Tess thought. The notion, which should have brought her relief from all the ridiculous attraction she felt for the man, was oddly unsettling.
“How about this one?”
Tess turned to find Mrs. Wells holding up a dress that hadlong been one of her favorites. The flattering design with a square-cut neckline was made of violet silk with darker plum velvet panels around the bodice and skirt.
“You look stunning in this one,” Mrs. Wells insisted.
Tess shot her a dubious look as she took the dress and held it up in front of her at the mirror. “I’m not sure I’ve ever pulled off looking stunning in my life.”
Mrs. Wells drew closer and tipped her head to the side. “What’s come over you, Tess? It’s not like you to think poorly of yourself.”
“I don’t think poorly of myself.” Tess swallowed hard.
“And why should you? You’re the kindest, cleverest young woman I know.”
Tess knew her worth. What she doubted was her judgement.
“Tell me what’s troubling you,” Mrs. Wells pressed in a soft voice.
“I must dress or I’ll be late.”
Mrs. Wells shot a glance at the clock on the mantel. “Ten minutes with me before the fire won’t make you late.” She slid her arm around Tess’s.
“Very well. Perhaps five minutes.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Mrs. Wells teased.
They settled into the two worn but comfortable chairs before the fire, and Tess laid the purple gown gently over the chair’s arm.
“I can tell you’re fretting.” She smiled warmly at Tess. “There’s two wee lines that form between your brows when you fret. What is it?”
Tess nibbled at her lip, debating what to confide. Debating with herself about whether her worries were silly.
“He disturbs me,” she finally admitted.
“Mr. Prince,” Mrs. Wells concluded without a moment’s hesitation. “Or are you thinking of the past?”
“Both. It’s impossible not to. He’s so very much like—”
“Is he?” Mrs. Wells drew in a long breath, then leaned forward. “You’ve known Mr. Prince all of a few days. Is it not too soon to cast such judgement?”
