Her Holiday Hero

by Tori Anne

  Table of Contents

  Her Holiday Hero

  Copyright

  Praise for Tori Anne

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Author’s Note

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Her Holiday Hero

  by

  Tori Anne

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Her Holiday Hero

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Tori Anne

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Arial Burnz

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First American Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-516-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Tori Anne

  “Eighteen-year-old Marie Callen’s strong moral sense makes her sensitive to the many cruelties in the world that need to be stopped—in New York City in 1866, these cruelties abound. Educated, opinionated, and a touch rebellious, Marie hates parental machination, and her mother’s quiet, calm, privacy is maddening to her at times. As Marie’s sexual awareness awakens, she finds Edward Forest, the stable man, to be her heart’s desire—not suitable as far as her father is concerned.

  “Oh, what a delightful story ensues as each major character works to achieve his or her own goals—from the master of the house to the maid, each has a decided agenda. HER HOLIDAY HERO sparkles with fun and love that is nothing short of a miracle for Christmas.”

  ~Camellia, Long and Short Reviews

  Dedication

  To those who passionately defend animal rights

  Chapter One

  New York City, 1866

  The carriage jolted to a halt, nearly sending Marie Callen into her scowling father’s lap. She glowered at him as their ride paused. On any other day, the beautiful blanket of snow covering the nearly finished southern corner of Central Park would have filled her with wonder and fancy. But now the expanse of white was suddenly bleak and depressing. An indignant rage heated her cheeks that until a moment ago had been cool from the winter air.

  “I will not marry into the Phillips family,” Marie declared. “I daresay the father has more eyes for me than the son. It’s him that wants me in that estate, not the boy. I want nothing to do with that name, it’s bloodstained.”

  “Bloodstained?” Bill Callen’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never heard such nonsense. The Phillips name is an ascending star. This family is not going backwards.”

  “No, it will be going to hell, rather,” Marie murmured earnestly “They did nothing for their workers when their factory burned. They let them die, the papers-”

  “Are full of incendiary lies to agitate union sympathies. What do a dozen immigrant girls have to do with your marriage?”

  Marie shook her head in disbelief. “You’ll never understand morals, father, other than those you’ve written for yourself.”

  “Indeed, well I wish I had the moral foresight not to have you educated. You’d be most agreeable if you couldn’t read.”

  “Come now, Bill, give her time to adjust to the news,” Felicity Callen said, squeezing her daughter’s knee. Mother was patient, quiet and levelheaded. Marie had no time for cool reason when her very life was suddenly imperiled. She opened her mouth for another round of protest when her father flung open the carriage door in a fit.

  “Why in God’s name aren’t we moving?” he cried. “Mr. Forest what’s the trouble—where the hell did he—” Hopping out of the carriage, Mr. Callen approached what appeared to be a scuffle.

  Marie ducked her head out the window to see that Edward Forest, their driver and stable-hand had bounded from atop the carriage and was holding back the arm of a red-faced cart driver who insisted it was his right to whip his horse to the bone if he damn well chose to.

  The poor and bony mare beside him was shuddering, her backside showing the coarse skin and patchy hair of an oft-struck hide. Marie’s heart went out to the animal and she held Edward in awe as he so calmly and easily held back the small and burly man as if he were nothing more than some bothersome insect. With his other hand Edward gently stroked the horse’s muzzle, who seemed to bend into the kindness as if it were water in a desert.

  Edward, tall, broad-shouldered and more mild-mannered than was usual for a man of his stature, calmly explained to the driver that he was mistaken in his right to dole out the whip and ought to attend to the honorable Mr. Henry Bergh who had just passed laws to the contrary.

  Marie was thunderstruck. A law against the whip? Who was this honorable Henry Bergh and when might she thank him? There weren’t such laws to protect women from the like, but if it could happen for horses, perhaps women too… The fact enlivened her educated feminine sensibilities that, she prided herself, were quite of the modern variety.

  But for the shuddering mare, the scene was somewhat amusing, Edward standing perfectly still with his hand clamped on the stocky driver’s bicep, his burly frame wheeling and pedaling beneath him, whip twitching in his upraised and stilled hand. And best of all, there was her father standing to the side, arms crossed in a fury, shouting at Edward to come back and resume their journey home at once.

  A park constable came wandering by, eager to assess some wrongdoing. Edward seemed only too happy to allow the law to take over. As this law was fresh, the constable had to be reminded of its existence and he snapped his fingers in recognition of the name Henry Bergh.

  “Yes, Bergh! What a force of nature he is, didn’t I hear he catapulted through a skylight and down into the middle of some dog fight? Shame that, I’d have liked to know which of the curs won!”

  “While I’m sure we could discuss what is none of our business all day, would you mind terribly taking us home, Mr. Forest?” Mr. Callen cried. “Or would you like to find yourself another home of employment?!”

  Edward bowed his head. “Yes, Mr. Callen, of course.”

  Callen stormed back to the carriage. Edward released the other driver who rubbed his bicep and began taking out his ire on the officer who was calmly leading him away. Edward fished in his pocket and held out an apple for the mare who took to it heartily. Marie thought her heart might very well burst.

  Edward caught up with Mr. Callen in only a few strides. “I’m very sorry to delay you and your family, sir, I was just doing my moral duty.”

  Mr. Callen threw his arms up in the air. “Moral duty! Today I’m cursed by morals at every turn!”

  Edward looked up at the carriage ahead, where Marie’s head was still extended and thirstily drinking in the scene. His bright eyes met Marie’s gaze, which she was sure was writ with the wide-eyed admiration she felt, and his high cheekbones flushed slightly. She felt her stomach flutter. Wonder after wonder. How had she never noticed how devastatingly handsome Edward Forest was?

  The answer came to her with a clarity that made her indignant. She’d never been taught to n
otice him.

  But Marie Callen, at the lofty age of eighteen, had decided that there were things she wished to be taught, and teachings she wished to unlearn. She certainly noticed Edward Forest now and planned to do so more often.

  “Come back into the carriage before your father takes your head off with the door,” Mother said softly.

  Marie fell in beside her mother. “Don’t make me marry that bland, boring Phillips boy, Mother—”

  “Shh. No more of it now.”

  “But—”

  “Patience, Marie, I wish you’d practice a bit of patience.” Her mother eyed her. “You claim not to like the ways of your father but I daresay you’ve taken on a great deal of his qualities.”

  That shut Marie’s mouth for certain. She folded her arms over her thin torso, her gloved fingers toying nervously with a fallen lock of chestnut brown hair that had snuck down her tensed shoulder. Her father threw himself into the cab, muttering, and the carriage jolted off again, eastward.

  Marie resolved to go home and filter through every newspaper and tract she’d ferreted away, perusing them for mentions of Henry Bergh. And then she’d invent reasons for visiting the stables more often…

  Chapter Two

  Marie sat in her room, poring over the last few months’ newspapers. She hoarded them as long as her mother would possibly allow before instructing Bernice to kindly use them for the fireplace.

  How had she missed these wonderful stories of the crusading Mr. Bergh? What had she been reading instead? The realization hit her with a sinking feeling.

  Since having finished school she’d begun paying attention to dresses and fashion, gossip and society pages. She’d entirely fallen off on her duty as a traitor to her class.

  “Oh, society, you subtle witch. I hadn’t even noticed you casting your frivolous, distracting spells upon me! This Mr. Bergh is a man of distinction and honor doing good and noble things. Why should I not do the same?”

  She resolved to resume sneaking into the suffrage meetings next door to her cousin Bette’s house.

  As the treatment of horses was not nearly such a divisive topic as unionization or the Vote, she deemed it safe to discuss with her mother.

  Felicity Callen was a diplomat in all things. A willowy, pretty woman with chestnut brown hair that Marie had inherited, Mrs. Callen was a tolerant listener. Yet she never took a firm stand on anything. Considering Mr. Callen, this perhaps allowed her to have more sway than if she were as stubborn as Marie. But it was a quality that drove Marie mad for she felt it was better her mother believe fervently in something rather than nothing.

  Finding her mother alone for a moment, Marie whirled upon her in her boudoir as she sat reading. In her daze over Edward’s blush and her excitement over Mr. Bergh, she’d entirely forgotten about the morning’s traumatic news.

  “Mother, you simply must hear about the man of whom Edward spoke this morning! Henry Bergh! I’ve just read the tract about his new American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. It’s so wonderful, I want to follow him to the ends of the earth, I—”

  “Calm yourself darling, heavens how you do get excitable over a good cause. Shall we go see him speak at the Cooper Union tonight?”

  Marie gaped.

  “Tonight? You know his schedule?”

  Her mother smiled mysteriously. “I try to know most things. I’ll tell your father we’re going shopping. Now. About your contract to the Phillips boy.”

  Marie felt the color flee from her cheeks. “Contract? Must you be so sterile, so horribly businesslike about my life, my heart, my home?”

  “While I respect your theatrical talents, Marie, could you curb them for just a moment? I realize you’re not fond of the boy, and so we’ll not rush things. We’ll give the engagement a year. He’ll come calling, of course, in the meantime.”

  Marie sunk onto her mother’s divan. “One year before I fling myself in the Reservoir?”

  “Oh, hush.”

  “I can’t possibly be in the room with that boy once a week for a year let alone the rest of my life.”

  “We’ll have Bernice sit in with you as chaperone. She’s so agreeable, she can do all the talking.”

  “She can have him.”

  “Which she may very well do,” Mrs. Callen said, waving her hand. Marie raised an eyebrow and almost sputtered a laugh in spite of herself but Mother continued as if she had in no way made an insinuation, “in which case I suppose you ought to keep your eyes open for another suitable candidate that shall keep you and this family in the manner—”

  “In which it is accustomed, yes, I’m quite clear on that count. But you’ve given me an idea, Mother, and for that I thank you.”

  Marie curtseyed curtly and whirled out of the room.

  She found Bernice feeding the August papers into the fire in her bedroom. “Thank you for stoking the fire, it has gotten quite chilly these days, hasn’t it, so nigh on Christmas. What do you want for Christmas, Bernice?”

  “A husband,” Bernice replied without hesitation.

  Tall and buxom, and far prettier by Marie’s own admittance, Bernice was a few years older and had been with the family for many years, got her way in most things, and could probably have beaten anyone Marie knew in a brawl. She was mild-mannered until angered and was utterly compelling. Marie openly admired her qualities, but Bernice had warned her on more than one occasion not to go “romancing her station of servitude.” While Bernice did seem to care for the family, it was also clear that if given the opportunity, she would seek loftier pastures. With her appearance and her will, it was certainly probable.

  “A husband. Hmm. Perhaps you and I can help one another. You know Mr. Phillips, the factory owner’s son?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s a handsome young one, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t think so, in fact, I hate him and I’ve been told I’m to marry him,” Marie said plainly.

  Bernice set her jaw. “Well?”

  “He’ll have to come calling all the year. Do tell me you’ll entertain him for me? It isn’t as though he’s interested in me either; we bore each other to absolute tears. But his father’s company is making a veritable killing. I’ve no doubt you could catch his heart for your own. You may find you’ll get your Christmas wish after all.”

  The wheels of Bernice’s mind were turning and her grin was promise enough. Bernice was incredibly helpful in terms of mischief. She never betrayed a confidence when Marie went ducking about town to various meetings or rallies with Bette, one of them always dressed as a boy to deter scrutiny. In turn, Marie vouched that Bernice was doing all manner of things for the household when she was actually working a few hours a week at an elite dress-shop and making elite connections she hoped to use when creating her own fashions.

  Marie kissed Bernice on the cheek. “I knew I could count on you. Now I’m off to a bit of a rally. As far as you know we’re shopping. In reality, Mother’s taking me to see Henry Bergh,” she said excitedly.

  “The man about the horses?” Bernice said.

  “It seems I’m behind my time.”

  “Indeed. Have fun. Take Edward, he loves Mr. Bergh.”

  “Oh, yes,” Marie said, and blushed.

  “And you.”

  Marie spun on her heels. “I beg your pardon?”

  Bernice sighed, clearly annoyed. “Come now, Marie, you’re eighteen, do awaken to the belated dawn of your overdue womanhood. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

  “Until today…no.”

  “Well since you’re looking to pawn off your fiancé, you might take care to examine the treasures of the world while youth is with you. And Edward Forest is quite a delectable treasure.”

  “What, have you tasted his treasure?” Marie eyed her. Bernice grinned.

  “He’s only had eyes for you since he walked onto the property. I couldn’t distract him if I tried. Only horses hold a candle to you. I thought I’d best tell you since you’re stupid about some things.�
��

  Marie hit Bernice playfully. “Tomorrow. Mr. Phillips will be here. Save me from stupidity, please.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “And now I must be off to hear a fine speech!”

  Chapter Three

  When Mrs. Callen gave Edward the address of their destination, he lit with an unmistakable excitement that Marie watched him quell. He wasn’t supposed to have an opinion about their business.

  Marie let Edward help her mother into the cab first. When he took her hand to help her in, Marie held it a moment, and squeezed. She smiled at him.

  He blushed all the way to his brown-blonde curls. Fran, their best mare, stamped and shook her bridle. Edward chuckled, said a soothing word and patted her side.

  “Thank you Mother, for arranging this,” Marie said once Edward had closed the door and left them alone.

  “I do know how you love your causes.”

  “And you? Do tell me what cause you love.”

  “Why, you, dear,” she replied.

  Marie made a face. “One must love something other than family.”

  “Why do you so disapprove of familial bonds?”

  “It isn’t that I do, Mother, but it isn’t all there is in the world, you know. There’s more than calling hours, shopping, gossip and making decisions on household goods.”

  “Is there?” her mother said airily. Marie hoped she was using a little sarcasm. “And did you know about tonight’s meeting?”

  Marie had not. She smiled. “I am happy to rest my case proven wrong, Mother. I greatly encourage your love of causes other than myself. I daresay mothers spend too much time on the causality of their daughters to the point of superseding their ability to think for themselves.”

  “In terms of marriage, I assume you mean?”

  Marie nodded. “Precisely my point.”

  “Indeed, well I’ll have to keep that in mind,” she said agreeably. Marie grumbled, knowing it was just another trick of diplomatic mollification.

  As they pulled up to the great Cooper building just south of Union Square, Marie felt a flood of excitement. The last time she’d been here it had been the summer prior, between terms when she was home from school, her and cousin Bette arranged elaborate alibis to sneak down to hear a reading of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species which was positively mind-altering.