All her apology had done was reinforce exactly what he knew now to be true—she was here out of desperation and duty. Not because she harbored any feelings for him. She was nice enough to him, of course, but that was all. Whatever affection she’d shown him earlier had disappeared.
In his darker moments, he thought she’d simply come to her senses after spending time with him. But he tried not to dwell on those thoughts too long. He had work to do, and there was the baby to look forward to. Wondering if it might be a boy or a girlwas a nice distraction, and he’d found himself imagining what he’d teach the child and how nice it would be to have a little one around.
“Benton, hello!”
Merrick paused outside the hardware store, where Richard Inman stood, hands in his trousers pockets and a friendly smile on his face.
“It’s good to see you. How’s the bank?” Merrick asked.
“Going well. Better than I’d hoped. This little town is booming and we can hardly keep up with the new accounts,” Inman replied. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to thank your wife for keeping Felicity occupied with those baby clothes.”
“I’m glad it’s helping.” Merrick stepped back to let another man pass. He hadn’t seen Inman for a while, and while his conversations with Eleanor had centered on everything but what was foremost on his mind, she hadn’t mentioned whether Inman and his wife had relocated to a more suitable place to live. “Were you able to find more permanent accommodations?” he asked as tactfully as possible.
“Other than the El Dorado?” Inman asked with a grimace. “Last week, thankfully. I suppose I knew it was no place for a lady, but the cost was . . . well, to be honest, it was all I could afford.”
Merrick nodded, keeping any judgment to himself. Eleanor had mentioned before Christmas that the couple was trying to make do on their own after being raised in comfort. “It’s good you were able to earn enough to relocate.”
“We’ve gone to Darby’s.” Inman stood a little straighter, clearly proud of himself.
“I daresay Mrs. Inman is happier there,” Merrick replied.
The man’s smile flickered. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and let out a breath that created a cloud in the freezing air.
“Is something wrong?” Merrick didn’t want to cause Inman discomfort, but it was obvious that something plagued him.
“It’s nothing new,” Inman said. “Felicity . . . well, she has a sadness about her.”
Merrick nodded slowly. He thought he understood. He’d known more than one person who seemed as if they carried the burdens of the world on their shoulders, no matter what seemed to go right for them.
“She’s experienced some challenges. We both have. But it’s been harder on Felicity than on me. I’d hoped that coming here would be a fresh start for her. Her friendship with your wife means the world to her, and she’s been more cheerful than I’ve seen her in a while when she’s working on that clothing for your little one.”
“I’ll tell Eleanor. She’ll be happy to hear that.”
They bid farewell, and Merrick continued back toward his shop. It was early, and he looked forward to what awaited him for the day. But even as he thought of his work, his mind wandered back to Inman and his wife. Whatever it was that plagued Mrs. Inman, she’d shared it with her husband. She’d leaned on him for comfort and clearly trusted him enough to leave a very comfortable life in Chicago only to come here and live in boardinghouses.
As strange as it sounded, Merrick felt a twinge of jealousy toward their relationship. What would it be like if Eleanor loved him the way it seemed Mrs. Inman loved her husband? The idea wrapped its way around his heart and squeezed.
Not for the first time, he wished he could say something that would turn everything back to the way it was before he took her for that walk by the creek. Back to when he thought she might feel affection toward him, back when he imagined them being married in more than just name.
But it wasn’t to be. She kept her distance, and he feared she remained here only because she had nowhere else to go.
He couldn’t decide if this was better than being alone—or so much worse.
