The mathematical precision of the maze calmed his mind as he counted the turns—left, right, two lefts, straight through at the next juncture. Then the pattern reversed and finally ended in a flurry of alternating turns that brought him to the grotto. The symmetry was flawless. Would that his ledger books were so precise. It always comes down to a question of money. If he’d been the one to squander away the family’s wealth, he’d feel his fate was justified. But why should he have to sacrifice his happiness when he hadn’t even been alive when his grandsire first crippled the estate? The injustice of it all stung. He leaned a hand on the entrance to the quartz-bedecked grotto. If only those sparkling crystals were diamonds, he’d be tempted to pocket a handful, enough to put Devonwood back on an even footing. Of course, if I wed Lady Florence, I’ll be able to settle the accounts, lay something by for lean days and still have enough left over to shower her with diamonds, thanks to her father’s purse.
