Mistaken Bride. Renee Ryan
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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