Hunter Kristi Ann - The Christmas heirloom: four holiday novellas of love through the generations

1827
L ANCASHIRE , E NGLAND

F rom a purely rational standpoint, Sarah Gooding should have been ecstatic with her present position. She was wearing a silk gown and playing piano in a grand aristocratic home while more than a dozen people of good family sat within hearing distance. She was more at home behind the keys of a pianoforte than anywhere else and had dreamed of having a prestigious chance to exhibit her talent.

This was nothing like shed dreamed.

The roughened texture of well-used ivory-covered keys was as familiar as the overwhelming feeling of not quite belonging. Actually, she felt rather unwanted.

That could have something to do with the fact that the enormous vertical cabinet piano designed to crawl grandly up the wall of elegant homes had been turned to create a divide between the player and everyone else. It was difficult to misinterpret such an arrangement.

At least no one could see her yawn as she plunked out the notes to the incredibly simple score of the Italian songbook that had been laid out for her.

Lady Densbury, the current Countess of Densbury, didnt care for ostentatious or distracting music during an intimate gathering such as a family dinner.

Sarah didnt particularly care for Lady Densbury.

As her fingers slowly drifted through a series of plodding arpeggios, Sarah leaned to her left. If she angled her head perfectly, she could see around the tall side of the ornate giraffe piano. Since the top of the piano cabinet stretched at least four feet above her head on the left side there was no way shed be able to see over it. And while the green brocade panels that decorated the tall cabinet were gorgeous to look at, they wouldnt let her know if the cake had been brought to the table yet.

Since Sarahs employer, the Dowager Countess of Densbury, insisted that Sarahs job as her companion included attending excruciating weekly family dinners, Sarah always focused on the cake. It was the only thing that made the ordeal bearable.

Well, the cake and the hope that Mr. Randall Everard might be home for a visit. Third in line for the earldom and therefore generally ignored by his parents, hed been raised largely by his grandmother. He didnt come back to the family seat often anymore, much to the dowagers dismay.

But he was there tonight.

If she couldnt get a glimpse of cake, catching sight of Mr. Everard was almost as good.

Unfortunately, even leaning as far to the left as she comfortably could, Sarah couldnt stretch far enough to see anything but the back of the earls head.

She made a face at his greying hair as she straightened back into her seat.

Sarah didnt particularly like the earl, either. Or his heir. Or even the spare. They were mean and the wives the older sons had procured this past year werent any better.

Mean probably wasnt precisely the right word. Overly aware of their heightened position in society and Sarahs extraordinarily lower status was more accurate, but that didnt quite roll off the tongue as well. It was much easier to think of the family as mean.

Not all the family, of course. Sarahs employer was a dear. The dowager had been a veritable angel to Sarah since hiring her as a companion back in January.

Which meant a few hours of agony once a week was worth it, if it made the dowager Lady Densbury happy.

And then there was the cake.

And if Mr. Everard was home, she got to sit in the corner, eat cake, and make cow eyes at him as he did his best to make his grandmother laugh. Her life wasnt likely to get much better than that.

She turned back to the music. A curl of panic shot through her when she realized she hadnt a clue where she was on the page or even if she was still on the page. Her fingers had been frittering about on the keyboard, playing at whim for who even knew how long. Swallowing hard in an attempt to ease the sudden dryness in her mouth, Sarah picked a line at random and drifted back into the song shed been requested to play.

It was simple.

Predictable.

Boring.

How long had she been playing for? An hour? Two? The countess enjoyed interminably long dinners. Part of Sarah was convinced it was because Lady Densbury was hoping Sarahs fingers would fall off, or that shed have some sort of breakdown from being asked yet again to gulp down a plate of plain food in the kitchens before playing sedate, quiet music while the family consumed four courses of elaborate dishes.