Renee Ryan - Mistaken Bride

“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.