Devon turned around. “Freddy! Does it matter? Need another.”
The shop’s namesake scoffed. “To think you want to buy the place. Ha. You’ll leave no product for the customers.”
Devon pounded a fist on the bar. “A Turkish coffee if you will. Right now,Iam a customer. But since you broached the topic, tell me. Are you willing to reduce the price a few hundred—ahem—thousand pounds?”
Freddy’s eyes bulged. “And shortchange my retirement? Bah. Here’s your coffee, my lord, and there’s the door.”
“Ah, you know I’m joking. I want to visit your palatial residence in Bath and sample your fine wine one day. You’ll need to be duly compensated for your establishment in order for that to happen.”
“No wine. Gout.” Freddy slapped his leg.
“No better of late?”
Freddy winced. “A bit. Comes and goes.”
Devon nodded, closed his eyes, and brought the cup to his face. He inhaled the rich steam. Perfection. “I’ve made a dent this week. I’ll be able to take this place off your hands in no time.”
“You could have it much sooner if you used the funds already at your disposal.”
They weren’t his funds, though. Not really. “I’ll get there in my own time, Freddy.” He winked. “You have my word.”
Freddy snorted.
“You begin to sound like a pig, my friend.”
“Then I’ll match my looks.”
Devon chuckled. The old man was not wrong. He had dark, beady, but intelligent eyes set deep into a rosy, pig-pink face. And an unfortunate, bulbous nose.
“Ahh. Lord Devon?”
Devon swung around to see a tall, slender woman, her hair in a purple turban from under which sweat dripped. Under her arm she carried a tray, which she slapped on the bar. She was strong, lively, and attractive.
“Mrs. Freddy!” Devon said. “A delight as usual.” No one knew her real name. Though Devon hoped it was something regal or fragile. Petunia, perhaps, or Georgiana. But even her husband called her Mrs. Freddy.
Mrs. Freddy bustled behind the bar and elbowed Freddy in the ribs. “Told ’im yet?”
Freddy swatted his wife away and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh! No. Not yet.”
Devon placed both elbows on the bar, dropped his chin into his palms, and grinned. “Told me what?”
Mrs. Freddy reloaded her tray with steaming mugs and re-entered the floor without another word.
Freddy tried to sink into his shoulders, then sink below the bar.
Devon dove over it, grabbed the man’s jacket, and hauled him back up, his grin gone. “Tell me what?”
Freddy pushed Devon’s hands away and stood tall on his own two feet. “We’ve had another offer. Says he’ll give us the asking price of two hundred pounds with a thirty-five years’ purchase. All at once.”
Devon did the math quickly in his head. Seven thousand pounds. Seven.Thousand. Pounds.
“The man has bluntnow,” Freddy continued, apparently unaware Devon was slipping into a state of shock from which there was no return. “Not later.” He straightened his jacket and looked away from Devon. “And my leg aches something fierce these days.”
Devon slumped against the bar. “That’s that, then? You accepted.”
“No.”
Devon looked up, adoring Freddy’s grumbly face. “No?”
