Mistaken Bride. Renee Ryan
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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?”