Cara knew that expression on Tess’s face. Her friend never furrowed her brow unless something dire had happened. Fear, bordering on panic, gripped her until she couldn’t breathe. “How’s Papa? Is he sick?” “No.” Tess crossed the morning room and grasped Cara’s hands. “He’s fine.” She squeezed them and smiled. “Really.” Her delicate features were drawn and her black hair, which she normally wore loose, had been smoothed back in a tight chignon. Relief took all the energy from Cara’s body. Thank God. But if it wasn’t Papa, then something else must be wrong. “What is it? Why are you here? You weren’t going to visit me. Remember?” Tess appeared tired and something shadowed her deep brown eyes before she averted her gaze. Fear perhaps? Or apprehension? Cara caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her friend let go of her hands, walked over to the table, and picked up a platter piled high with scones. She sniffed them, an exaggerated look of appreciation on her face.
