Chapter Twenty-three
ELEANOR SAT ON THEedge of the chair, her eyes glued to her son. Felicity had let her feed him, thankfully, but she’d taken him back immediately afterward. It took everything Eleanor had not to cling to Davy, but something told her it was safer for them both if she let Felicity have her way.
She glanced at the dainty pistol on the night table. Felicity had taken it out when Eleanor and Deirdre had first arrived. She’d set it down when Eleanor came in, and to be honest, Eleanor wasn’t even certain if Felicity knew how it worked. But she wasn’t about to take the chance of finding out.
Felicity leaned back against the headboard of the bed now, humming softly to Davy. She insisted on calling him Leo and thanked Eleanor profusely for helping her with “her son.” Eleanor was baffled at first. She even corrected Felicity, but the other woman shook her head, smiled, and told Eleanor to stop being silly. She’d made all of those clothes, she’d told Eleanor, and didn’t Eleanor remember that? It was as if Felicity thoroughly believed this story she’d concocted.
Eleanor’s gaze wandered back to the pistol on the table. If only there was a way she could get to it before Felicity. Her father had taught her how to shoot years ago. She didn’t think she’d forgotten, or she could at least make it believable enough for Felicity to give up this delusion and hand Davy back to her. If only Felicity would stand up . . .
“Mrs. Inman?” The marshal’s voice came through the door again.
Felicity sighed. “I don’t understand why he’s still here. What could he possibly want?” She tucked Davy up against her and slid to the edge of the bed. “Yes, Marshal?”
“Why don’t you let me in, just for a minute. Mr. Benton would like me to speak with his wife.”
Felicity turned to Eleanor and shook her head, exasperated. “My husband isn’t here, sir, and I’m not in the habit of letting strange men into my room. I’m certain Mrs. Benton feels the same way. You may speak to her through the door.”
“I’m just fine, Marshal,” Eleanor said again. If he’d draw Felicity into conversation and leave her out of it, she just might have a chance at grabbing that gun on the table.
“When is your husband due home, Mrs. Inman?” Marshal Wright asked.
“Soon, I expect.” She bounced Davy gently.
Eleanor’s fingers itched to grab her son from Felicity’s arms. Once she got him, she would never let him go again.
The marshal’s voice sounded through the door again. “Tell me about his work. What is he doing again?”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. That was an odd question. Surely Marshal Wright knew Mr. Inman worked at the bank. It was almost as if he was stalling for time, or trying to distract Felicity. Just as she wondered why, a movement from off to the side caught her eye.
Merrick stood at the window. Eleanor pressed a hand against her mouth and whipped her head around toward Felicity. But the other woman wasn’t paying her any attention.
Eleanor stood quietly and ever so very slowly, stepped backward toward the window. With a hand behind her, she fumbled for the lock.
Felicity turned just then, and Eleanor leaned quickly against the window. “I grew tired of sitting,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t give her away.
But Felicity didn’t seem to care. It was as if it didn’t cross her mind that Eleanor might try to sneak out the window, or go for the pistol she’d set on the table.
And then Eleanor realized—Felicity didn’t see her as a threat at all. Only as a friend.
Some part of her heart broke for Felicity. Whether she’d ever forgive her for taking Davy, Eleanor didn’t know, but she couldn’t imagine living with such unimaginable pain that her mind broke entirely and she didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.
