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“It is so nice to meet you, my lord. I am sorry you lost your wife. Where in Somerset did she reside?”

“Near Glastonbury, my lady.”

“Oh, my father’s country seat is near Taunton. It is probably twenty or twenty-five miles from Glastonbury. I will have to ask my parents if they knew her. Or you.”

“I doubt it. Lady Tilsbury was quite shy. Some would term her a wallflower, but she was my everything. Once we wed, we never returned to town for the Season.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I can tell you cared for her a great deal.”

“We never had children. It was just the two of us. She has been gone almost ten years now, and I still miss her a great deal.”

Dru liked this man. “Please do not think me forward, my lord. I am here visiting my sister for an indefinite period. Might I call upon you some afternoon? You could tell me about Lady Tilsbury.”

Tears filled his eyes. “I would like that very much, Lady Drusilla. Perhaps you can come one day when Martindale calls. He recently returned to the neighborhood.”

“You are friends?” she asked, curious about the earl’s relationship with this man.

“Martindale is like the son I never had. He has been away at war and has now come home to take up his title.”

“Yes, we met him at Mrs. Cadmann’s bakery yesterday afternoon.”

Just then, someone entered the pew, drawing her attention from the viscount.

It was Lord Martindale, still wearing his regimental colors. He looked every inch the military officer he had been, his posture erect, his countenance solemn.

“Might I sit here, Lady Drusilla?” he inquired, shaking hands with Viscount Tilsbury.

“Of course, my lord,” she said.

“Lady Drusilla has promised to come see me, Martindale. I told her she could when we have tea together. Could the two of you come on Wednesday?” Tilsbury asked.

Lord Martindale turned to her. “Are you free Wednesday afternoon, my lady?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice suddenly small.

Lucy leaned over. “The service is starting.”

A woman took a seat at the pianoforte, and soon the congregation sang Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing .

Dru noticed Lord Martindale did not pick up a hymnal, nor did he sing along.

She, on the other hand, enjoyed singing very much, and did so with abandon, her low alto voice harmonizing with Lucy’s soprano one.

She found it hard to concentrate on the sermon with Lord Martindale sitting so close to her.

His shoulder and upper arm rested against her own, putting all kinds of unchristian thoughts into her head.

They stood for a prayer, and she tried to nudge him a bit in the other direction so that when they sat, there would be a bit of space between them.

He only sat closer.

Frustrated, she leaned over to whisper to him to move some. Instead, she inhaled the wonderful scent of sandalwood, drawing a deep breath of it—and him.

Jarred by it, Dru turned her attention to Mr. Harper, who had begun his sermon.

She forced herself to focus on his words but found by the time he finished speaking, she hadn’t a clue as to what he had talked about.

This was ridiculous. She had never been taken by any man.

Then again, her experience was limited. She knew their neighbors, of course, and had been to assemblies in the village, where she had danced with young men close to her own age.

She wondered if Lord Martindale danced.

Huffing, she noticed Lucy staring at her. “All you all right?” her sister whispered, concern in her eyes.

“Never better,” she replied, determined to keep all her thoughts pure—and not giving a second thought to Lord Martindale’s sensual lips.

They sang another hymn and had a final prayer, and then it was time to adjourn. Dru had never been gladder that a service had ended.

She bid Lord Tilsbury goodbye and turned to leave. Suddenly, a warm hand grasped her elbow, stopping her progress.

“Aren’t you going to say your goodbyes to me, Lady Drusilla?” the earl asked.

Dry-mouthed, she tried to swallow, hoping he didn’t notice how nervous she was. The heat coming from his hand on her bare elbow had started a fire within her. It was something she didn’t quite understand. All she knew was that she was attracted to this man—and did not want to be.

“Shall I call for you in my carriage on Wednesday when we go to tea?”

“We can discuss it tomorrow when you come to Huntsworth for tea, my lord,” she told him, taking a step back.

He didn’t let go.

“My lord?” she said, pointedly looking at his hand on her arm.

Martindale had the decency to flush and released her immediately. “I look forward to spending time with you tomorrow, Lady Drusilla.”

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she told him, “Please call me Dru. It is what my family and friends call me.”

“That is kind of you to give me leave to use the diminutive form of your name, Lady Dru.” He smiled. “I rather like it. It suits you.”

His smile caused warmth to spread throughout her insides. Suddenly, the church felt overly hot. She needed air. Now.

“I must go,” she said abruptly, hurrying from the pew and down the aisle, catching up with Lucy and Ariadne.

Why the bloody hell had she told the earl to call her Dru?

She was afraid to examine the reason why.