Murder Most Malicious Read Online Free Page B

to the house.
    Grams narrowed a shrewd gaze on Julia. “I do hope there is no particular reason for Henry to have made a sudden departure.”
    This, too, Julia ignored.
    â€œAs Lawrence Winslow did last summer,” Grams muttered under her breath. Although everyone must have heard the comment—Phoebe certainly had—all went on eating as if they hadn’t. Grams seethed in Julia’s direction another moment, then returned her attention to her meal.
    Apparently, not everyone was willing to pretend Grams hadn’t spoken. “Julia, you and Henry get on splendidly, don’t you?” Fox snapped his fingers when she didn’t reply. “Julia?”
    She turned back around. “What?”
    Phoebe was gripped by a sudden urge to pinch her. Though last night had obviously left her bewildered, this sort of indifference was nothing new. It began three years ago, the day the news about Papa reached them from France, and rather than fading over time her disinterest had become more pronounced throughout the war years. By turns her sister’s apathy angered or saddened Phoebe, depending on the circumstances, but always left her frustrated.
    â€œStop it,” Amelia hissed in her brother’s ear, another comment heard and ignored around the table. “Leave it alone.”
    Phoebe observed her little sister. Had Amelia found out about last night’s argument, or had she merely grown accustomed to Julia’s fickleness when it came to men?
    â€œMy, my, yes, he’ll be back.” Lady Cecily spoke to no one in particular. She used her knife to scrape food around her plate with an irritating screech. “He must return soon, for isn’t there an announcement Henry and Julia wish to make today?”
    Lady Allerton leaned in close and, with an efficiency that appeared to be born of habit, slipped the knife from between her aunt’s fingers. “You asked that this morning, Aunt Cecily. And no, there is no announcement just yet. Why don’t you eat something now?”
    â€œNo engagement yet?” Lady Cecily looked crestfallen. “Why is that? Julia dear, didn’t Henry ask you a very pertinent question last night?”
    Julia finally looked away from the window as if startled from sleep. She blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
    â€œWe were all very tired last night, what with all the Christmas revelry.” Grams’s attempt to sound cheerful fell flat. In the old days the house would have been filled with guests, but first the war and then the influenza outbreak that sped through England in the fall heavily curtailed this year’s festivities. The Leightons might be second cousins, but they would not have been invited to spend the holiday at Foxwood Hall if Grams hadn’t held out hope that Father Christmas would deliver a husband for Julia. The war had left so few men from whom to choose. “Henry and Julia shall have plenty of time to talk now things have calmed down. Won’t you, Julia?”
    â€œYes, Grams. Of course.”
    Phoebe doubted her sister knew what she had just agreed to. Fox sniggered.
    â€œIf you don’t stop being so snide,” she whispered to him behind her hand, “I’ll suggest Grampapa send you up to the schoolroom where you belong.”
    Fox cupped a hand over his mouth and stuck out his tongue before whispering, “Then you should stop impersonating a beet every time Lord Owen enters a room.”
    â€œI do no such thing.” Good gracious, if Fox had noticed, was she so obvious? She sucked air between her teeth. But no, Lord Owen was paying her no mind now, instead helping himself to thick slices of cold roast venison and responding to some question Grams had just asked him. She relaxed against her chair. Lord Owen was a passing fancy, nothing more. He was . . . too tall for her. Too muscular—good heavens, his shoulders and chest filled out his Norfolk jacket in