Mistaken Bride

by Renee Ryan

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” She meant every word.

  “As am I.”

  Once again he turned to go. This time he stopped himself before he took the next step. “Might I ask you one last question?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you know Bridget Collins?”

  She searched her brain, reviewing all the women and girls she’d met on board the Annie McGee named Bridget. It was a common enough name, so much so she counted four off the top of her head. None of them had the last name Collins, though, not that she remembered. Then again, she hadn’t known most of her fellow passengers’ full names.

  Collins. The name triggered a memory, one Bridget couldn’t quite grasp. There was a Collins family back in Castleville and there were several daughters among the eight children. Had there been a Bridget among them?

  Yes, that must be why the name sounded familiar. “I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting your Bridget aboard ship.”

  “Pity.”

  It was, indeed.

  “Thank you for your understanding, Bridget, I mean, Miss Murphy.” He shoved his hat onto his head. “I apologize for disturbing you and the child.”

  A heartbeat later he was gone, disappearing into the crowd to continue the search for his bride.

  Feeling oddly lost without his company, Bridget watched him weave through the maze of people and piles of luggage along the wharf. He moved with masculine elegance, the fluid motion proving he was a man used to controlling his body, confident in who he was and exceedingly comfortable in his own skin.

  It was a very attractive, heady combination of traits. Just watching him made her feel very feminine.

  In spite of the awkwardness of their meeting, Bridget had liked him. Even now as she watched him search for his bride, concentrating only on the faces of women near her same age, she felt a pull of—something. Something strong and lingering and very, very pleasant. Attraction?

  Maybe.

  Or perhaps the sensation was simple curiosity. Yes, that must be it. She couldn’t possibly find this man attractive when she knew the potential for heartache. Her sisters claimed she was a romantic, but that did not make her naive. Giving in to curiosity, she wondered what possible scenario would induce a man like Will to seek out a mail-order bride, a man with undeniable breeding, wealth and good looks.

  Before she could contemplate the matter further, Nora returned.

  “I found our luggage,” she said, a wee bit breathless, her eyes shining. “It’s on the other side of the gangplank, about a hundred yards down.”

  When Bridget merely blinked at her, Nora indicated the spot with a jerk of her head.

  Realizing she was expected to respond, Bridget nodded.

  Eyebrows pulling together, Nora made an impatient sound deep in her throat. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t seem yourself.”

  “I… It’s…nothing. I’m simply preoccupied.” That was true enough. “There are so many new things to see and hear, to feel, to comprehend. My head is spinning.”

  “It’s all very exciting.” Nora reached out her arms. “I’ll take Grace now.”

  Bridget handed over the baby without argument.

  Hoping for one last glimpse of Will, she lifted onto her toes and caught sight of another familiar set of faces heading straight for them.

  Head held high, marching along in all her regal glory, Mrs. Fitzwilliam led her new charges through the bustling wharf. The three McCorkle brothers following in her wake watched the activity around them with wide eyes. Although it had taken Bridget a while to warm up to the imperious widow, the boys had been a different matter. From the moment Bridget had met them, they’d inspired her sympathy and her faith. She was pleased to see them find a happy ending with Mrs. Fitzwilliam as their foster mother.

  As was her custom, the older woman had chosen to wear a dress designed in the latest fashion. The pale blue silk, adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trim, was undeniably beautiful but couldn’t possibly be comfortable in the midday heat.

  The widow didn’t seem to notice. She looked cool, elegant, her dark auburn hair contained in a beaded snood that would have been more fitting for a ballroom. Bridget wondered briefly where her attendant Stillman had gone. Perhaps to hire a carriage?

  “Well, hello, my dear Murphy sisters.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam drew to a stop, her nose in the air, eyes cast downward. “I see you still have that precious baby with you.” She reached out and caressed Grace’s cheek with a loving, gentle touch. “Such a beautiful child.”

  Nora accepted the compliment with genuine pride in her eyes, as though the baby was her own. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Nodding her approval, Mrs. Fitzwilliam continued studying Grace’s sweet face. “My stepgranddaughter Mary had the same coloring.”

  At the mention of the girl, a sad, faraway look entered Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s eyes. The widow’s quest to find her missing relative had led her to make this trip to America. The rebellious Mary had run off with her boyfriend, Thomas. The lack of any contact from the girl, not a single letter, had left Mrs. Fitzwilliam quite concerned, enough to seek the help of a professional.

  “Will you be meeting with a detective soon?” Bridget asked, unable to hold her tongue in light of the distress she saw in the woman’s gaze.

  “As soon as possible. Oh, yes indeed. As soon as possible.”

  “You will keep us informed?” Nora asked.

  Never taking her eyes off the baby, she gave one firm nod. “You may count on it.”

  After touching Grace’s cheek one final time, Mrs. Fitzwilliam turned her attention back to Bridget. “Enough with all this gloom.” She shook her head as if to wipe away the remains of any negative thoughts swirling around. “Now tell me, my dear girl, are you prepared to claim your new home today?”

  “Oh, aye,” Bridget answered, all but cradling her reticule against her waist as snugly as Nora held the infant. “You will come visit us once we’re settled, yes?” She made eye contact with each of the McCorkle boys. “The invitation includes you three, as well.”

  “Thank you,” Gavin, the oldest of the brothers, answered for all of them. “We would enjoy that very much, Miss Bridget.”

  “Then it’s agreed.” Bridget punctuated her statement with a smile.

  Gavin smiled back. Tall and lanky, at just eighteen he was on the cusp of manhood and took his role as big brother seriously. Emmett and Sean were considerably younger than him, eight and ten years old respectively. Despite the age difference there was no mistaking the three belonged to one another. All had the same reddish blond hair, pleasing features and big blue eyes.

  They were a little rough around the edges, but they were good boys with big hearts. Back in Ireland they’d nearly starved to death in a workhouse.

  “…and once Stillman hires the carriage the five of us will head to my home here in Boston.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s voice broke into Bridget’s thoughts. “After I meet with the detective and determine my next step concerning Mary, we will make the trip to Faith Glen.” She spoke as if the four of them were already a family.

  Who would have thought the haughty woman of weeks ago would turn out to be so—sweet. Bridget felt her smile widening. The widow was doing a wonderful thing, taking in the boys and raising them as if they were her own kin.

  Although Gavin had done his best to provide for his younger brothers, he wasn’t educated and had had no job prospects in America. The McCorkles had taken a large risk when they’d set out to stow away on the Annie McGee. The Lord had protected them when things hadn’t worked out as planned. Their leap of faith had ultimately brought them a kind, if somewhat stern, benefactor in Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

  God was good. And now the lonely widow had a family of her own.

>   Would Will’s story end so happily?

  Rising to her toes, Bridget caught his attention just as he left another group of women. At the questioning lift of her eyebrows he shook his head in the negative.

  Bridget lowered back onto her heels and sighed.

  “Bridget Murphy.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s tone held a considerable amount of reproach. “Were you flirting with that man?”

  Flirting? “No, of course not.”

  “And yet, I wonder. I saw you speaking with him earlier, without the benefit of a chaperone in sight.” The widow’s eyes had turned a hard, dark blue, reminding Bridget of the imposing woman they’d first met on the ship weeks ago.

  Refusing to be intimidated—after all, she’d done nothing wrong—Bridget raised her chin in the air. “Yes, I spoke with him earlier. But I assure you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, nothing unseemly occurred between us.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “He mistook me for his bride.”

  She realized she’d spoken too plainly the moment Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s eyes narrowed.

  “That man thought you were his bride?”

  Nora gasped at the implication. But before she could speak, Mrs. Fitzwilliam sniffed loudly, her disapproval evident in the unladylike sound. The gesture reminded Bridget that the woman had always adhered to a strict moral code of conduct.

  A wave of heat rose in Bridget’s face. She glanced at Nora, noted her widened gaze, then hastened to explain. “It wasn’t unseemly, but rather a simple mistake. He thought I was his mail-order bride. Her name is Bridget, as well. And aside from sharing her name, apparently I fit the woman’s description, too.”

  After a moment of consideration—a long, tense moment where Bridget fought the urge to continue defending herself—Mrs. Fitzwilliam conceded the fact with a short nod of her head. “I suppose that could happen.”

  She sounded as skeptical as she looked. But Bridget had other concerns besides earning Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s approval on the matter. “He still hasn’t found her,” she said more to herself than the rest of the party.

  As if to prove her point, Will approached another group of passengers disembarking from the Annie McGee. After a brief conversation, he walked away empty-handed. Again.

  “Wait a minute.” Nora swung into Bridget’s line of vision, her face full of concern. “Did you say the man’s bride has similar features as you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you remember, Bridget?” Nora said. “The terrible accident when the girl fell from the forecastle onto the deck.”

  “I…” Bridget closed her eyes and thought back. A young girl with dark hair had fallen to her death. There was some confusion over her identity. In fact, Flynn had feared the dead girl was Bridget at first, and had gone to inform Maeve of the terrible accident. They’d all been happily surprised when Bridget had joined them in the middle of his story.

  “Yes, oh, my stars, yes,” Nora said with more conviction than before, her voice breaking into Bridget’s thoughts. Nora gasped as though remembering the moment when they’d thought Bridget was dead. “It was all so horrible.”

  Bridget remembered now. The girl had died early in the voyage. Maeve, acting in the role of Flynn’s medical assistant by then, had been upset over the entire matter, especially when they hadn’t been able to identify her conclusively. Bridget wasn’t even sure they knew her identity still, not without doubts, but she did remember hearing someone say that she was called Bridget.

  “Oh, dear.” Could this be the reason why Will hadn’t located his bride yet? Because she was dead?

  The crowds had thinned out and, still, he continued searching for his bride. To no avail.

  Bridget couldn’t bear to watch any longer. She had to tell him what she knew. Or at least what she thought she knew. She and Nora could be wrong. But if they were correct, if Will’s bride had died during the sea voyage over, someone needed to tell him. And that someone should be her, not some stranger who wouldn’t take care with their words.

  Bridget bid a hasty farewell to Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the boys, then set out.

  “Bridget,” Nora called after her. “Where are you going?”

  “I must tell him about the accident.” She tossed the words over her shoulder, her mind made up, her feet moving quickly.

  “Bridget, it’s really none of your concern.”

  Oh, but it was. It had become her concern the moment Will had introduced himself to her.

  Chapter Three

  Will caught sight of Bridget Murphy hurrying toward him at an alarming speed. Still reeling from his earlier encounter with the young woman, he noted two things about her as she approached. She no longer held a baby in her arms and she had a very determined look on her face.

  Oddly enough, the fierce expression made her more appealing, not less. For a brief moment he experienced a wave of regret that she wasn’t his Bridget. She was truly beautiful, if he looked past the unruliness of her hair. She had a smooth, oval face, a gently bowed mouth and hazel eyes, more green than brown, a color so rich and intricate he could stare at them for hours and still come away fascinated.

  But her hair gave him pause, that glorious, untamed hair that refused to obey its pins. The silky strands snapping in the wind gave her a spirited look that Will found dangerously appealing. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in—never. He’d never met a woman that made his blood rush and his brain spin out of control. Not even Fanny.

  It was a very good thing this particular Bridget was not his bride after all.

  Swerving around a group of her fellow passengers, the woman skidded to a stop directly in front of him.

  She was breathing hard and blinking rapidly.

  Something had upset her greatly.

  “I have news for you, sir, I…” She let her words trail off and her brows pulled together in a frown.

  No woman should look that attractive while frowning.

  “I just realized,” she said in that soft Irish lilt that left him feeling warm and comforted, like the melted chocolate his mill workers turned into hard cakes. “I don’t know your full name.”

  He blinked again. “It’s William. William Black.” He paused. “But, please, call me Will. Considering the circumstances of our first meeting anything else would seem too formal.”

  She digested his words a moment, watching him closely as she did, and then gave him one firm nod. “And you may call me Bridget.”

  He smiled his agreement.

  After another moment passed, she took a deep, shuddering breath, opened her mouth to speak again but stopped herself just as quickly.

  Will continued looking into her eyes, those beautiful, gut-wrenching eyes that were fully green in the sunlight with only a few flecks of gold woven throughout. There was no subterfuge in her gaze, no secretive games being played. Or rather, none that he could decipher.

  Despite knowing he should keep up his guard, despite her beauty, he sensed this was a woman he could trust. An illusion he didn’t dare give in to, for the sake of his children if not for himself. They needed stability and a mother. No matter what his personal feelings were on the matter the job was already filled. Will was firmly committed to following through with his promise.

  He cleared his throat. “You said you have news for me?”

  “Yes.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m afraid it concerns your bride.”

  By her manner alone he knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Go on.”

  “There was a young woman on board who bore my same description, one I had forgotten about until my sister reminded me. Her name was Bridget, and she had dark hair and eyes and…” Her words trailed off again. He could feel the misery rolling off her in waves.

  Now he knew for certain he wasn�
�t going to like what she had to say. Nevertheless he pressed her to continue. “And?”

  “And…” She sighed. “The Bridget I’m speaking of died on the crossing over.”

  Dead? His future bride was dead?

  His gut rolled at the news.

  No. Not dead. Not possible. The words refused to register in his brain. And yet he found himself asking, “How did she die?”

  “From what I remember, although I didn’t see the accident myself, she lost her footing and fell from the forecastle to the deck.” She touched his arm with tentative fingers then quickly pulled back when he lowered his gaze. “She did not survive the fall.”

  Will shook his head, the news sinking in slowly, painfully, but far too clearly. “When did this happen?”

  She cocked her head at a curious angle, as though unsure why he’d asked the question. “It was a few days into the journey.”

  His worst fear confirmed. His bride had fallen to her death on board the ship, after she’d left the safety of her homeland.

  All his careful planning, all the research he’d done to avoid making another mistake, and for what? Another woman was dead because of him.

  * * *

  Bridget watched a complicated array of emotions cross Will’s face. He was no longer stoic, or unreadable. He was distressed. Visibly so.

  That terrible look of despair, that awful pain in his eyes. She’d done that to him.

  Her heart constricted with sympathy. It wasn’t in her to watch such suffering. She desperately wanted to erase the worry from his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Will, I mean…Mr. Black,” she corrected, knowing it was best to keep their relationship formal, at least at the moment. “I’m very sorry.”

  He blinked down at her, his eyes unfocused, as though he’d forgotten she was still standing beside him. In the next instant his troubled gaze darted up the gangplank, then across the wharf, then back to her again. “Are you certain the woman was Bridget Collins?”

  “I… No.” A moment of doubt whipped through her. “No, I’m not certain at all. From what I understand there was some initial confusion over her identity. She looked enough like me for the ship’s doctor to believe it was me that had died.” Oh, please, Lord, please, let me be wrong. For this man’s sake.