“Mr. Whitfield, ma’am, we’ve arrived.”
The car stopped. The assistant stepped out first and opened the door.
Nathaniel seemed pleased with how she’d been addressed. Nora just felt strange hearing it.
Then came the staff, a full line of them at the entrance, bowing in unison and “strange” upgraded to “mortifying.”
“Welcome home, Mrs. Whitfield!”
As the chorus faded, an older man stepped forward, silver hair, neatly trimmed beard, somewhere north of fifty.
“Good evening, ma’am. My name is Edmund Whitmore. You can call me Mr. Whitmore, or just Edmund if you’d prefer. Anything you need for the house, come to me directly. Here’s my card.”
“I’ve already sent his contact to your phone,” Nathaniel added.
Something in Nora’s chest warmed at that, unexpectedly.
Richard had never made her fe
