Murder Most Malicious Read Online Free

I fear life has lost its color.”
    Her sister nodded, her large eyes keen with understanding, just as they had always been from Amelia’s earliest age. Even as a baby she had seemed to possess an uncanny wisdom when it came to reading the moods of others. Sometimes Phoebe yearned for those plump, little-girl arms hugging her tight as they once so often had. Julia could use one of those hugs now, though it had been years since she had admitted to vulnerability of any sort or accepted that kind of closeness—not from Amelia and certainly not from Phoebe.
    Amelia nodded sagely. “You’re afraid all we’ll have to look forward to from now on are parties and such, like in the old days?”
    â€œYou have read my mind exactly.” Yes, let gentle Amelia believe that was all that was wrong. “The old ways seem so purposeless now. I’ve been thinking—”
    â€œYou should be thinking of finding a husband before the dust gathers on that shelf you’re sitting on,” Fox whispered out of the side of his mouth, his gaze still fixed across the table at the elders as if he hadn’t been listening in on Phoebe and Amelia.
    â€œI’m nineteen, Fox. That hardly qualifies me for any shelf and besides, what difference should it make?” Phoebe shook her head at him. “It’s a new world and women will no longer be relegated exclusively to the home. We have choices now.” Or should, she silently amended.
    â€œThat’s right,” Amelia put in eagerly. “Many choices.”
    Fox finally deigned to turn his face to Phoebe, his lips tilting in a mean little smile. “You think so? As you said, the war is over. The men have come home. Time for you ladies to return to the roles for which God designed you.”
    She nearly choked on her own breath. Only a throat clearing and a glare from Grams prevented her from retorting—and perhaps wringing her brother’s neck.
    â€œI propose that directly following luncheon, Julia play the piano for us.” Grams pinned her light brown eyes on Julia, turning her proposal into an adamant command that brooked no demurring.
    â€œAnd following Julia, I wouldn’t mind regaling everyone with a song or two.” This came from Lady Cecily Leighton, Henry’s maiden great-aunt. Phoebe glanced up at her, alarmed by the suggestion. Lady Cecily had already proved herself thoroughly tone deaf, and on one occasion Phoebe had had to endure an entire hour of jumbled and stumbling notes. If that weren’t enough, the woman’s outfit today reflected sure signs of a growing disorientation, with her striped frock overlaid by a knee-length tunic of floral chiffon. A wide silk headband sporting a bright Christmas plaid held most of her wiry white curls off her shoulders and neck, giving her the appearance of a garish, holiday gypsy. The poor woman’s maid must have been mortified this morning.
    â€œOf course, Cecily, dear.” Grampapa spoke softly and gently, as he had when Phoebe was small. His perfectly trimmed mustache twitched as he smiled. “We shall look forward to it.”
    Phoebe managed to suppress a groan, but Fox could not. Grams shot another glance across the table while Grampapa’s eyebrows gathered in warning.
    â€œAfter Julia serenades us”—fourteen-year-old Fox pulled a face—“and Lady Cecily, too, may we find something exciting to do? Grampapa, couldn’t we take the rifles out for some skeet shooting?”
    â€œFox.” Grams arced a crescent-thin eyebrow. “I believe indoor activities are more appropriate for days such as this.”
    â€œOh, Grams. . . .”
    â€œFox.” Grampapa’s stern tone forestalled any impending complaint.
    The boy made a grinding sound in his throat, and Phoebe whispered to him, “When are you going to grow up?”
    â€œWhen are you going to stop being so boring?”
    â€œTerribly sorry to be late for