Murder Most Malicious Read Online Free Page A

luncheon, everyone. I had some letters to write. Do forgive me.” Clad in country tweeds, Lord Owen Seabright bowed ruefully and took the vacant seat beside Julia. His gaze met Phoebe’s, and she raised her water goblet to her lips to hide the inevitable and appalling heat that always crept into her cheeks whenever the man so much as glanced her way.
    Lord Owen Seabright was an earl’s younger son who had taken a small, maternal inheritance and turned it into a respectable fortune. His woolen mills had supplied English soldiers with uniforms and blankets during the war. He himself had served as well, a major commanding a battalion, and for his valor he’d been awarded a Victoria Cross. Unlike Theo Leighton, Lord Owen had returned home mercifully whole but for having taken a bullet to the shoulder.
    If only Papa had been so fortunate....
    She dismissed the thought before melancholy had a chance to set in. Of course, that left her once more contemplating Owen Seabright, a wealthy, fit man in the prime of his life and as yet unattached. After years of war, such men were a rarity. He’d been invited to spend Christmas because his grandfather and Phoebe’s had been great friends, because he’d had a falling out with his own family who disapproved of his business ventures, and because Fox had insisted he come, with Grams’s blessing.
    If an engagement between Julia and Henry didn’t come about, Owen Seabright was to be next in line to seek Julia’s hand. Phoebe wondered if Owen, or Julia for that matter, had been privy to that information. She herself only knew because Fox had told her, his way of informing her he’d soon have Julia married off and Phoebe’s turn would be next.
    Or so he believed. What Phoebe believed was that Fox needed to be taken down a peg or two.
    â€œHenry isn’t with you?” Lady Allerton asked.
    Lord Owen looked surprised. “With me? No, I haven’t seen him today.”
    â€œNo one has, apparently.” With a perplexed look, Lady Allerton helped herself to another of last night’s medallions of beef bordelaise. “I do hope Henry hasn’t gotten lost somewhere.”
    â€œHe can hardly lose his way.” Grampapa’s great chest rose and fell, giving Phoebe the impression of a bear just waking up from a long winter’s rest. “He knows our roads and trails as well as any of us. Spent enough time at Foxwood as a boy, didn’t he?”
    â€œYes, but, Archibald,” Grams said sharply, “things look different in the snow. He easily could have taken a wrong fork and ended up heaven only knows where. Or he might have slipped and twisted his ankle.”
    â€œGood heavens,” Lady Allerton exclaimed. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”
    â€œShould we form a search party?” Amelia appeared genuinely worried. Phoebe sent her a reassuring smile and shook her head.
    â€œGrams, don’t be silly.” Fox flourished his fork, earning him a sharp throat clearing and another stern look from Grampapa. The youngest Renshaw put his fork down with a terse, “Sorry, sir,” and shoved a lock of sandy hair off his forehead. “But even if he was lost, he’d either end up in the village, the school, or the river. He’s not about to jump in the river in this weather, is he?” The boy shrugged. “He’ll be back.”
    He sent Julia a meaningful look. She ignored him, turning her head to gaze out the bay window at the wide expanse of snow-frosted lawn rolling away to a skeletal copse of birch trees and the pine forest beyond that. Farther in the distance, the rolling Cotswolds Hills embraced the horizon, with patches of white interspersed with bare ground where the wind had whipped the snow away.
    Phoebe brought her gaze closer, and noticed a trail of footprints leading through the garden and back again. Henry? But if he’d gone out that way, he had apparently returned