Free The Soul of the Rose by Ruth Trippy

Charles’s cheeks flushed.
    Mrs. Harrod laughed. “Celia knows I like to spark off occasionally. And make the grand gesture. We’ve become good friends since that first book discussion.” She turned to Celia. “Isn’t it wonderful Charles came home early for Christmas? Now he’ll be able to attend one of your discussions.”
    “I hear you’re discussing Dickens’s Christmas Carol, ” Charles said.
    “I thought it would be just the thing to inject a little holiday spirit.” Celia turned to Mrs. Smith. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
    “Yes, my dear.” Mrs. Smith shivered. “But now if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting a mite cold.”
    “Of course. It was nice to see you again,” Celia said.
    As Mrs. Smith walked away, Mrs. Harrod startled. “Now, look!” She waved to a large man walking up the street in their direction. “Mr. Lyons!” she hallowed. “Join us, please.” As he neared them, “You remember my son, Charles?”
    Mr. Lyons touched his hat to the two ladies. “Yes, I well remember Charles.” He held out his hand. “I heard you’re attending Harvard Law School. You always were a bright young man, taking after your grandfather and, of course, your father.”
    “That is a compliment I don’t take lightly, Mr. Lyons. I remember how well Grandfather spoke of you, how complimented he felt on being invited to view your library.”
    “He had a rare mind.”
    “How nice of you to say so,” Mrs. Harrod said. “I always thought my father an exceptional person.” She cocked her head appealingly. “By the way, I’m giving a little holiday dinner on the twentieth, in honor of my son’s visit. Mr. Lyons, would you honor us by attending? And, Celia, you will come, of course.” Mrs. Harrod placed her hand on Celia’s arm. “I can already see acceptance in your eyes, my dear. Now, Mr. Lyons . . .” She looked up expectantly at the gentleman.
    “I don’t know what to say, Madam.”
    “Why, you’ll say ‘Yes,’ of course. It’s time you showed yourself in society again. Remember you were every hostess’s favorite bachelor? Now, you will be everyone’s favorite widower.”
    “I’m afraid you are sanguine in your appraisal of my present stance in society, Mrs. Harrod.”
    “Nonsense! Besides, there’s no time like Christmas to break the ice. Everyone is in such a holiday—welcoming mood. Furthermore, our gathering will be little more than a family party with a few friends. My other son, George and his wife and children, will be there. Do say you’ll come.”
    Celia saw such misgiving in his eyes and Mrs. Harrod must have seen the same for she laughed. “Mr. Lyons, you do very little credit to your name. The lion is the most feared animal in the wild, the king of beasts. You must step forward for the occasion and help me out. Now that I’ve invited Celia, I’ll have an uneven number at table and that will never do. You must be the chivalrous, lion-hearted Richard of old, and help a damsel in distress.”
    The beginnings of a smile played over Mr. Lyons’s lips. “You are a hard woman to say no to, Mrs. Harrod. The men in your family aren’t the only lawyers.” He cleared his throat. “For you, then, Madam, I will come.”
    Mrs. Harrod impulsively laid her hand on his arm. “I’m delighted. And I know my husband will be, too. We dine at seven. Do come early.”

8
    E dward Lyons reached for the knocker. What had he let himself in for? It had been so long since he’d attended a dinner. Remembering Mrs. Harrod would have everything up to snuff for the holiday season, he had donned his best suit. Not formal wear, because his hostess had said no to that, but he’d opted for the best he had without resorting to evening dress. And he’d had his hair and beard trimmed. The barber said he looked more civilized.
    When he passed the bookstore and the Chestley home, he wondered about Miss Thatcher. Maybe he should have offered his escort. The evening was pleasant enough