Chelsea walked at his left side, Gran Rosalinda at his right. Both of them were quiet, taking in the scale of the welcome with the same slightly stunned expression Jake suspected was on his own face.
Eskar had been directed to the servants' quarters by one of the maidens and had gone without complaint, which was probably the most sensible decision he had made in the last week.
At the villa doors stood a woman who had not knelt with the others.
She was perhaps fifty, with silver-streaked hair pulled back precisely and a face that had the kind of settled authority that came from decades of running a large household and tolerating no nonsense in the process. Her clothes were those of a senior servant, dark and well-made, with small silver buttons at the collar that Jake suspected indicated rank.
She bowed when Jake reached her, a deep and formal bow, then straightened and met his eyes directly.
"Young master," she said, her voice clear and unhurried.
