Renee Ryan - Mistaken Bride

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.

“Then you will excuse me?” He looked over his shoulder, heaved a hard pull of air into his lungs. “I must check with the ship’s officials to determine if this unfortunate news is, indeed, true.”

Of course he would want to verify the information she’d just given him. “I think that’s a very wise idea. I could very well be incorrect.” Oh, please, please.

“Let us hope that you are.” His words were abrupt, but not unkind. More distracted than anything else.

He gave her a brief, formal bow. “Good day, Bridget.”

“Good day. And—” she placed her fingertips on his arm once again “—Godspeed in your search for your bride.”

He stared at her hand for a breathless moment. Then, shrugging away from her, he left without another word.

Not at all offended by his abrupt departure—well, only a little—Bridget watched him work his way toward a small, official-looking building that was most likely the shipping office. Even in his distress, William Black paced through the wharf with those same fluid, masculine, ground-eating strides she’d noticed earlier.

Her heart heavy with the distress of bearing such devastating news, Bridget continued staring after him until he disappeared inside the building. She might have sighed a few times in the process.

What would Will do if his bride was the young woman who had died aboard ship? Why did it matter so much to her? Why did she sense there was more to his story, something tragic that made this news so much worse?

Caught up in her troubling thoughts, she didn’t notice Nora’s approach until a firm hand gripped her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her boots. Spinning around, she glared at her sister. “Nora! You scared me half to death.”

“So sorry.” She didn’t look remorseful in the least. “But I did call your name three times. You didn’t answer.”

“My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“I figured as much.” She hitched her chin in the direction of the building. “How did he take the news?”

“Not well.” Bridget sighed. “Not well at all.”

“I don’t suppose anyone in his situation would.”

“No.” She lowered her gaze and noted that Nora’s arms were empty. Completely empty. Terrible possibilities filled her mind. A wordless cry lodged in her throat. “Where’s Grace?”

“Maeve has her. The two of them are sitting with our luggage while Flynn is over by the street hiring a carriage. Come, Bridget.” Nora tugged on her arm. “Our new home is waiting.”

Their new home. She’d almost forgotten why she was here in America. And no wonder. Her excitement had been dampened by the unfortunate incident with William Black. Or rather, Will, as he’d first introduced himself and then later asked her to call him. Proper or not, she would forever think of him as Will.

Again she wondered why he had sent all the way to Ireland for a bride. What was the rest of his story?

And what will he do if his bride is dead?

Bridget wished there was more she could do to help the man, and perhaps there was. An idea began formulating in her brain, one that might not bring Will the good news he hoped for but at least would give him accurate information. As her dear mother used to say, it was always easier to plan once you had all the facts.

With that in mind, Bridget hurried ahead of Nora, eyeing the pile of luggage where her sister Maeve waited with baby Grace cradled in her arms.