The tavern-keeper cleared his voice. "The room is ready, my lord."
"Excel ent!" Oliver replied, reaching his arm up the staircase to take Hazel's
hand. "Come along, my dear."
When she reached the last step, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. It
felt right having her there. He led her down the corridor to the private
dining room and held out a seat for her as the maid took a spot beside her
mistress.
"Wel," he began, "when I reach, I plan to call on Mr. Hazel and
inform him of the lackluster staff in his employ."
"My lord!" Hazel hissed, and her cheeks took on a lighter pal or." Beggin' yer pardon," the maid gasped.
"You should have been with your mistress last night instead of entertaining some
beau. And--"
"I told ye, this isna yer concern." Hazel leaped from her
