Chapter One 

Eleanor

Burn in Hell

 

As her husband’s coffin began its slow descent into the freshly dug grave, Eleanor’s face remained still. The surrounding mourners would expect devastation: tears, trembling, some visible sign of a heart breaking. Beneath her composed exterior, the truth moved through her — not grief, but relief.

The priest’s voice drew her back as he asked God to keep Edward in His care. Eleanor thought it unlikely her late husband would speak to St Peter anytime soon, but she could easily imagine him talking to Satan.

“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Someone held a bag in front of her, and the scent of dirt filled her nostrils. Eleanor placed her gloved hand in, closed her fist, and withdrew it. She took a step towards the coffin and let the dirt fall. As it hit the wood, the usual utterance of ‘Rest in Peace’ did not fit with what she was thinking; instead, Eleanor had to bite back the words ‘Burn in Hell’.

Stepping back to allow others their turn, Eleanor watched as people from Edward’s world filed forward to pay their last respects. He’d been an only child. His parents had been long gone before their marriage. She herself had nobody. Foster care didn’t tend to produce mourners.

Still, the turnout was far from sparse. Edward Silverton’s sudden death had drawn a considerable crowd. Billionaire entrepreneurs with impeccable public reputations rarely went into the ground unnoticed.

It was unfortunate that his wealth couldn’t save him. He had been driving home in the early hours of the morning when he lost control. The car plunged over a cliff and burst into flames. The official report concluded that he had likely died on impact. He wouldn’t have suffered, she’d been told. Eleanor comforted herself that was wrong, and he’d been conscious long enough to understand what was happening as the flames took hold.

Edward’s PA, Naomi, stepped up next, sobbing dramatically, her eyes red and swollen as she pressed a lace-edged handkerchief to her trembling lips. Eleanor knew she was exactly the sort of picture people imagined when they thought of a grieving widow. Shame the role was already taken.

Eleanor curled her fists to steady the rush of emotion, annoyance mostly. She drew a slow, measured breath and lifted her chin, her gaze settling on Naomi—cold, unblinking. Another one of Edward’s women, this one for five months now. Of course it could be longer, but that was when Edward had delighted in informing her about it.

“Mrs Silverton.”

A dark-haired, well-built man stood in front of her, dragging her attention away from the sobbing woman. Had she met him at an event she attended with Edward? He seemed familiar: strong features, piercing blue eyes. What was his name? Eleanor tried to search her memory: a charity auction, country club, business dinner? No, she couldn’t quite place him.

“I’m Nathan Hawthorne; your husband was one of my investors. I wanted to offer my condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, aware that she sounded stiff. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it together; when would this funeral end?

The man looked as though he wanted to say more, but he seemed to think better of it; he gave her a nod and walked away.

Eleanor let her gaze drift, unfocused, until it landed — briefly — on Naomi. She was no longer alone. A tall man stood beside her now, one hand resting lightly between Naomi’s shoulder blades, his head inclined murmuring words meant only for her. His suit was dark and immaculate; silver threaded neatly through his hair.

Naomi leaned into him without hesitation.

Eleanor noted the ease of it — then looked away.

More mourners came up to her, expressing their sorrow, and each one received the same polite ‘Thank you.’ After twenty minutes, she escaped to the car. Thankfully, there was no wake to attend. The issued press release stated that the family wished to grieve in private. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was the only family and wanted privacy — just not to grieve.

As the black Range Rover pulled up to the house, Eleanor stayed in the car for a few moments. The stately Georgian mansion loomed in front of her. It wasn’t the house’s fault she hated living here, but she still felt no warmth for the place. The car door opened. Andrew, her driver, stood to the side. He was in his late fifties, only slightly taller than her five foot nine, with grey hair and kind eyes. He was one of the few members of staff she hoped to keep, if he wanted to stay.

“Thank you, Andrew. I won’t be going out again for a few days, so if you want to take the rest of the week off, that won’t be a problem.”

“I appreciate that, ma’am,” Andrew replied, waiting for her to exit the car before closing the door. “But I’d feel happier staying around, just in case you need me.”

Eleanor looked at him, her eyes stinging unexpectedly. She swallowed, placing a hand on his arm.

Walking up the stone steps to the double wooden doors, Eleanor opened one and stepped into the large entrance hall. It wasn’t a warm, welcoming space. The atmosphere was cold and austere. If she intended to stay at Thorley Manor, this would be one of the first rooms to tackle.

The housekeeper appeared from the back of the house. There was no softness in the older woman’s gaunt face, just the same pure, undiluted disdain she always reserved for Eleanor. It was almost touching, really, the consistency of it.

“Mr Talbot is waiting for you in the study. He’s been there for at least half an hour.”

Eleanor peeled off her black leather gloves one finger at a time, the slow precision deliberate, almost surgical. She smoothed a hand over her blonde hair, ensuring the French pleat remained perfect, then lifted her gaze back to the other woman, maintaining eye contact. The silence stretched. Eventually, the housekeeper’s cheeks reddened, a belated recognition that her words and tone were no longer acceptable.

“I’m sure Edward’s lawyer knows that today was the funeral and the timings. We’ll take afternoon tea in five minutes. After that, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Waiting for the nod to acknowledge the order, Eleanor watched as the housekeeper turned with a huff and made her way to the kitchen to pass on the instructions to the cook.

As she walked towards her husband’s study, a room she detested, she reconsidered. Forget the hall. This room would be the first on the list to be completely obliterated. At the door, her throat closed and her heart rate sped up. A Pavlovian response. Each time she had been summoned here, it was to be punished for some crime, real or imagined. Either way, this room turned her stomach.

James Talbot stood looking out of the window at the grounds, his back to the room. His hands in his suit trousers pockets, he looked completely relaxed. As Eleanor closed the door, he turned around, took a minute to look at her before walking over, his hand outstretched.

“Eleanor, I’m sorry for your loss.”

His hand lingered just that touch too long, and Eleanor had to resist the urge to pull hers out of his grasp and wipe it on her black pencil skirt. Without question, James was a good-looking man, at least six foot, slim with blonde hair slicked back, clean shaven wearing a dark grey bespoke three-piece suit. Eleanor didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“Are you sure you want to do the will reading today? We can hold off for a few days if you prefer?” His voice was soft with an attempt at sympathy.

“I’d rather get this done, if you don’t mind,” Eleanor said in a firm tone. She needed to understand her position and what surprises Edward had left for her.

There was a knock on the door, and the housekeeper came in carrying a tray with tea and a few tiny sandwiches: egg and cress and cucumber. The cook knew full well Eleanor disliked both. The housekeeper placed the tray on the desk and nodded to James, ignoring Eleanor completely, before quietly leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

James picked up the white and gold Sèvres teapot. “Shall I be mother?” he asked, far too brightly.

“Of course,” Eleanor said, arranging her features into polite stillness and smothering the flicker of revulsion the question evoked.

The tea was poured into the matching delicate cups: Earl Grey, lemon, no milk, not the Yorkshire Tea she preferred. Eleanor took the cup, ensuring their fingers didn’t touch, and sat back, crossing her legs. James’s eyes dropped to them before he took his own seat behind the desk. Leaning down for his briefcase, he removed a file, placing it on the leather ink blotter.

“I’m certain you remember the prenup. In cases like this, though, it doesn’t hold. Everything defaults to the spouse.”

When Edward had asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement, it hadn’t bothered her. She was young, only twenty; she thought they were in love, and although Edward was rich, she truly didn’t want him for his money. It was the thought of being in a loving relationship with someone who cared for her, wanted to protect her, to start their own family. Those were the things she had focused on. How quickly everything changed after they declared the marriage vows.

“Actually,” James continued, “considering his wealth, this is a straightforward will. Basically, Edward has left you everything.”

The teacup rattled in her hand. She leant forward and placed it on the desk, then clasped her hands together to keep them still. “Everything? Just like that? No demands or stipulations?”

“No, it’s unexpectedly simple. He updated it six months ago when he increased the life insurance on both of you. He had set yours at five million and his own at ten. Once the insurance clears, the estate will receive Edward’s.

Frowning, Eleanor brought her hand to her mouth, not quickly enough to hide the gasp. “I was insured for five million? Edward never mentioned that. I’m sorry, when was that arranged? I don’t remember signing any paperwork.”

James reached into his briefcase again and pulled out more papers; he shuffled through them, bringing one to the top of the pile.

“Here it is. Edward redid both policies. It has your signature on it,” James said as he held out the paper to Eleanor. She took it, noticing her hands were still not steady. Flipping to the back page, Eleanor saw her supposed signature dated April 10th, but knew she had not signed that. Her right arm had been in a cast that month, thanks to Edward.

She ran her thumb over the signature, buying time.

“Right, yes, of course, I remember now,” Eleanor said. No way could she admit that this was fake. Not now. “Sorry, it’s been a horrible few weeks, as I’m sure you can imagine. I’m not at my sharpest. Would you mind if I keep this and the other paperwork, just so I can have a look through everything when I’m more myself?”

“Absolutely, completely understandable. Keep the documents; we have copies on file at the office.” James softened his tone with practiced sympathy. “I realise this may be a shock, Eleanor, but as Edward’s widow you’re now a very wealthy young woman. The house, the cars, the properties, his stocks and shares, well everything really, are yours. I’d be more than happy to continue as the family, your, lawyer and help in whatever way I can.” He smiled, though his eyes apparently hadn’t been informed. “Knowing your history, you may become overwhelmed, so please lean on me in any way you need. I’ll always be available to take your call.”

“And by history, you mean?” Eleanor asked, her voice steady. She wondered if he would dare to say it, what she knew he meant, the rumours everyone whispered about her when they thought she couldn’t hear.

“Don’t take this the wrong way; I’m honestly impressed with everything you’ve achieved by marrying Edward. Given your lack of education, not to mention some past mental issues, you’re going to need lots of intelligent people around you. I just want you to know that I am offering myself to be one of them.”

Eleanor offered a practiced smile, one she’d worn so often it felt like part of her wardrobe by now. She was equally accustomed to dealing with patronising men who assumed that being tall and blonde meant being dim. That James knew so much about her background didn’t surprise her; Edward’s lawyer would naturally have access to every personal detail. What irked her was how clearly he regarded that history as a weakness rather than the hard-won strength it was. Slowly, she rose to her feet and extended her hand to the man who had just insulted her outright.

“Thank you, James. I’ll bear that in mind.” She began walking to the door, an obvious invitation that it was time for him to leave. “To clarify one quick point, am I still able to make decisions about the house, such as décor and personnel?”

“Of course, that’s not a problem. It will take a few months for probate to go through and for everything to be transferred into your name, but normal everyday decisions you’re fine to make now. We can arrange the transfer of any money to your personal account if you need it.”

Eleanor walked him to the front door and waited as he opened it. He paused and handed her his business card. “Here are my personal details. If you need to talk, just call my mobile any time.”

“Thank you so much. I know Edward would appreciate your concern. I promise not to be a burden.” Eleanor waited until he’d descended the steps before closing the door with deliberate softness. A smile on her face as she walked toward the kitchen. The well-known saying about karma drifted through Eleanor’s mind; she was looking forward to proving that to be true. After all, there was no time like the present to fire two members of her late husband’s staff.

Not everything she uncovers will set her free.

The story continues in Cold As Silk.

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