The Affair (Entangled Scandalous) by Lily Maxton

Chapter One
    London, 1817
    Charles Edward Lucien Grey, Earl of Thornhill, had died when he was thrown from his horse in what everyone called a tragic riding accident. Elizabeth, the Countess of Thornhill, could have predicted her husband would meet his end in such a manner. He’d always bought the fastest thoroughbreds and raced across the country at breakneck speeds…so it wasn’t surprising to her that he actually had broken his neck one misty afternoon when his horse threw him.
    She’d moved back into her parents’ house with her unmarried sisters, unwilling to stay at Wycombe Manor, the Thornhill seat, by herself. It was a vast, empty house that had never held many happy memories, even when her husband was alive. But even if she had been willing to stay on, he had mismanaged the estate so badly that by the time the creditors had gone through it, there wasn’t much money left for her to live on.
    She forced herself through the required mourning, first wearing all black and then whites and grays and washed-out lavenders. She didn’t go out to society functions; she didn’t dance. It was a sort of half-life, like clouds marring a summer day—unfulfilled, unrealized. But now that half-life was over. The clouds were past.
    “What colors do you prefer, my lady?” the dressmaker asked as she took measurements.
    Elizabeth stared at the rows of fabric—bright, shimmering, splendid. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed color until this moment. A little huff of laughter came to her lips. She didn’t feel dignified. Certainly not like a countess. She felt as giddy as a girl with her first beau, simply because mourning was over and it was time to reintroduce color to her wardrobe.
    “All of them,” was the very sincere and very unhelpful answer she gave. Particularly because she was trying to be economical and had decided to purchase only two or three new gowns.
    The dressmaker paused with a half smile. “You would look very well in light blue, I think.”
    Yes, she’d always worn pale blues as a debutante. She was milky-skinned and fair-haired with blue eyes—they’d suited her perfectly. The men had admired her. Charles had coveted her…for a time. She’d been the toast of the ton .
    She started to nod, to accept, but something made her stop. What had that admiration done for her? Yes, she’d married an earl—a man who’d looked at her like a prized possession until she’d proved she wasn’t perfect, and then he’d barely deigned to look at her at all. The admiration of others couldn’t fill a silent home, nor give ease to a troubled mind. It was time to do something for herself.
    “Not blue. Perhaps—” She hesitated. “I have a fondness for red.”
    “Dark red?”
    She shook her head. She was sick of darkness. “No, bright, like…” She cast around in her memory for something. “Poppies.”
    “Poppy red,” the woman muttered, turning to browse through the fabrics. “Very well.”
    Elizabeth left the dressmaker’s shop happier and more carefree than she’d felt in a very long while. She walked right past her waiting carriage on a whim. She would walk home.
    When one of her footmen noticed, he rushed after her, trying to unfold an umbrella.
    “There’s no need for that,” she said.
    He glanced at the sky, looking at the dark clouds dubiously.
    “Return to Middleton House,” she commanded. “I will be there shortly.”
    Maybe she would and maybe she wouldn’t. The day seemed ripe with possibilities, and it had been a long time since she’d been caught in the rain.
    Too long.
    Somewhere on Piccadilly the pleasant drizzle turned into a downpour. The opening of the skies brought colder air, and she stood on the pavement shivering as rain drenched her to the bone. And yes, thinking it might have been a mistake, after all, to send the carriage away.
    She ducked into the first door she saw. And collided with a very solid shape.
    “ Oomph .”
    The solid—and warm, had she