Mistaken Bride

by Renee Ryan

  Bridget had no doubt. “Run along, Nora. Grace will be quite fine with me.”

  That seemed to mollify her and she scurried off at a quick pace.

  With the infant nestled safely against her, Bridget moved into the shadow cast by the ship’s hull and continued watching the activity around her.

  As though sensing all was well, the baby promptly fell asleep in her arms.

  Equally content, Bridget sighed. The starkly handsome ship rocked in the brackish water behind her. Caged in the dark pool, the enormous structure swayed its lofty head in impatience. The groan of the rigging sounded like an angry mutter of protest against its current confinement.

  Bridget had felt that same way back in Ireland. At least in the end. But she and her sisters would soon claim a home of their own, their first, the one deeded to their mother years ago. It was the discovery of that long-hidden deed that had spurred the sisters to set out for America. Now, she couldn’t wait to see where their journey led.

  So many possibilities lay ahead. Her mind wanted to wander. She let it.

  Far too little time passed before Bridget caught sight of Maeve disembarking with her new husband. They hadn’t seen Bridget yet. Arms linked, leaning into one another, the newlyweds moved as a single unit. Flynn’s dark head bent over Maeve’s lighter one. He whispered something in her ear. They both laughed, and the sound reached all the way to where Bridget stood with Grace.

  Did they know how happy they appeared to outsiders?

  Something hard knotted in Bridget’s stomach and she looked away as a familiar sense of loss filled her.

  No. She would not give Daniel McGrath such power. It had been a year since he’d left her heartbroken and humiliated. Nothing was going to ruin this day for her, especially not bad memories of the one man who’d disappointed her.

  For I will turn their mourning into joy…

  Letting the Scripture sink in, Bridget decided to wait a moment longer before she approached Maeve and her husband.

  Just as she was ready to step out of the shadows, a movement caught her eye.

  Something was coming toward her. No, someone—weaving through the thick crowd with purpose.

  Bridget struggled to moderate her breathing, even as she craned her neck to see over the bobbing heads.

  One blink, two and she saw him. The same man she’d watched from the ship’s main deck.

  The sound of her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

  How could a stranger affect her so?

  He was a full hundred feet away and Bridget still couldn’t make out his features, yet she couldn’t look away. She knew—she knew—he was different. Special. And just like earlier, she was inexplicably drawn to him, fascinated, perhaps even bewildered.

  A shiver of anticipation skittered up her spine and she instinctively leaned forward. Toward him. Her eyes narrowed for a better look.

  He wore a dark frock coat over lighter-colored trousers and carried what looked like a soft-crowned brown hat in his right hand. By his dress alone she knew he was no average dock worker. Or weary traveler.

  He had to be a businessman. An American businessman?

  In spite of the impeccable clothing and dark hair cut in a very modern style, a shocking air of raw masculinity resonated out of him.

  He surveyed his surroundings with meticulous care, checking faces only. Occasionally he would stop and ask a question of someone, shake his head, then continue his search.

  She still couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but he seemed to be looking for someone in particular.

  Grace? Was he here to claim Grace?

  No, that couldn’t be right. The baby had been born on the journey over. This man had not been on the ship, she would have remembered him. He couldn’t possibly know of the child’s existence. Could he?

  Her body reacted with an odd sensation and she tightened her hold on Grace. The baby wriggled in her sleep but didn’t awaken.

  Bridget lowered a soothing kiss to the child’s forehead, even as she kept her gaze locked on the stranger.

  Meeting such a person on her first day in America could be a dangerous prospect, especially if he was here to seize Grace.

  If only Bridget could see his eyes, she would know more about the man’s intentions and his character.

  Look at me, she silently ordered.

  As though hearing her call, his head turned in her direction. It was only then that Bridget realized several people were pointing at her.

  Her? Or Grace?

  Oh, Lord, please no. No…

  Despite her desperation, or perhaps because of it, the moment her gaze met the stranger’s Bridget lost her ability to breathe. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. The man’s eyes were indeed blue, a liquid silver-blue, and filled with a fathomless pool of blank emotion, except for a flicker of…what? What was it she saw in that instant? Hurt? Loneliness?

  For that brief instant, she felt an undeniable pull. She reached out her hand, as if she could soothe him from this distance.

  He gave one hard blink and the moment passed.

  Her throat clenched.

  He was coming her way.

  And looking very determined.

  She almost considered melting deeper into the shadows, but if Grace belonged to him, Bridget couldn’t deny him his right. She had to trust he would be good to her.

  She took a step forward. Toward him.

  He took one slow deliberate step, as well.

  Feeling a bit light-headed, Bridget sighed.

  Grace gurgled.

  The stranger took another step forward.

  Bridget sighed again. Really, this odd reaction to a total stranger was beyond ridiculous. She didn’t know this man. Or his intentions. She should slip back into the safety of the shadows.

  She almost did just that, thinking it the wisest course of action. Except one of Bridget’s flaws was that she never retreated from a dare. And, oh, my, the man’s intense blue eyes held quite the dare.

  Chapter Two

  William Black stood in muted astonishment. That hair. Wild and glorious, the sight of those untamed curls refusing to obey their pins drew him yet another step forward.

  Was this woman his future bride, the one he’d sent for all those months ago?

  Surely not. Yet several people had pointed at her when he’d mentioned her name—Bridget—and then given her ordinary description of brown hair and dark eyes.

  There had to be some mistake. There was nothing ordinary about the woman. She was a blend of the unexpected and the extraordinary, a beautiful female impossible to overlook. In short, everything he avoided in a woman.

  As if to mock him, a beam of sunlight escaped like a finger through a crack in the clouds, landing directly on her, bathing her in golden brilliance. Under the bold light of midday she looked delicate, inviting, almost ethereal.

  What if this was his Bridget?

  He’d paid for her passage and promised to marry her, promised to make her a much-needed part of his family. He couldn’t go back on his word, regardless of his current misgivings. Duty and honor were the principles that guided his life, all that a man had left when everything else was stripped away.

  Will swallowed, remembering what had driven him to acquire an Irish mail-order bride in the first place. Irish women were supposed to be honest, hardworking and proper.

  No proper woman had hair like that.

  Whoever she was, the beauty staring back at him was perfectly unsuitable to become the mother of his three-year-old twins.

  Not after the pain Fanny had put them through this past year and a half.

  For a dangerous moment Will’s mind fled back in time. To the day when he’d been fool enou
gh to think he could make his marriage work. When he’d thought love was enough to conquer every obstacle thrown their way.

  He knew better now. He would never marry for love again. His children deserved stability. And his poor mother deserved relief from the physical demands of caring for a pair of toddlers, no matter how well-behaved.

  If this woman with her wild hair and commanding eyes was the one with which he’d corresponded, then Will would honor his promise. As he would any other business transaction. But what would become of his family then?

  Mind made up, he continued forward, then stopped, frowned, dropped his gaze. The woman was holding a baby in her arms.

  The letter hadn’t mentioned a child. Had his intended lied to him? A burning throb knotted in his throat. Was she using him to—

  He cut off the rest of his thoughts. He was jumping to conclusions before he’d even met her. The baby might not be hers. And there was still no proof this was indeed his bride.

  Will owed it to his children to find out for sure, before he brought the woman into his home and his life. As much as he wanted stability for the twins he would not condemn them to living with a woman of loose morals. Not again. Not ever again.

  Closing the distance, he forced a smile on his lips and put as much charm into his voice as possible. “Are you Bridget?”

  “I…well, yes.” Her lovely Irish lilt washed over him and brought an odd sensation of comfort. “Yes, I am Bridget.”

  An echo of a smile trembled on her lips and Will found himself responding in kind.

  Despite his first impression, this woman with her radiant smile and soft expression looked the picture of innocence. A bolt of yearning struck him out of nowhere.

  Will ruthlessly suppressed the unwelcome sensation. He didn’t want, or need, a wife for his own sake.

  “Hello, Bridget. I’m Will,” he said without feeling. “Your future husband.”

  * * *

  Her future…what? Her…her…husband?

  The boldly spoken words echoed around in Bridget’s mind, yet she couldn’t make sense of them. She must have misunderstood the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore. Will, his name was Will.

  Bridget shook her head free of her jumbled thoughts and tried to focus on the relevant matter at hand. He wasn’t here to claim Grace.

  Relief made her legs go weak. But then confusion took hold. Surely this man, this…his name was Will. Surely Will hadn’t just referred to himself as her future husband.

  It was really quite absurd to think that he had.

  So Bridget waited for him to continue, or rather to explain himself in greater detail.

  He remained completely, perfectly silent.

  When the moment stretched into the uncomfortable, she swallowed several times and then opened her mouth to respond.

  To her horror, nothing came out.

  She snapped her mouth closed.

  And still, Will held to his silence, with only a hint of impatience in his stance.

  All Bridget could do was blink up at him in return. He towered over her by at least six inches. The breadth of his shoulders and the powerful muscles beneath his finely cut jacket indicated a man familiar with physical labor.

  Bridget should be afraid of him.

  She was not.

  She was, however, rendered speechless. Still.

  “I…I…” The rest of what she’d meant to say sputtered out in a gurgle. She swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you incorrectly, you said you were my, my—”

  “Future husband.”

  Oh, my. His deep, raspy voice skimmed over her. A warm, curious sense of inevitability pulled her a step closer to him. Foot poised in midair, she stopped herself before she took another. “That is quite impossible. You have mistaken me for someone else.”

  His gaze instantly dropped to the baby in her arms and his eyebrows slammed together. Bridget could practically hear the thoughts running through his mind. She braced for the unavoidable questions, trying to decide how best to answer them when they came. She was no stranger to uncomfortable questions.

  Will surprised her by skirting the issue of baby Grace altogether. “You are Bridget, are you not?”

  “I am, yes.” She cleared her throat, comprehending his mistake if he did not. “But I am not your Bridget.”

  His frown deepened. Something dark and turbulent flashed in his eyes.

  As she recognized the shift in his mood, it occurred to her once again that she should be afraid of the man.

  Why am I not more frightened?

  They were surrounded by hundreds of people, yes, any of whom would come to her rescue if she screamed for help. But that wasn’t the reason for her lack of fear. It was Will himself. Or rather, his eyes. They were a deep, liquid blue so compelling and beautiful and yet so—very—bleak.

  Bridget felt the familiar quickening of compassion in her heart. Something had made this man sad.

  The realization brought an unexpected yearning. She’d never been able to turn away from a person in need. Daniel had considered her sympathy for the wounded and disadvantaged her greatest flaw. Bridget considered it her greatest strength. Their difference of opinion had been enough to cause a permanent rift, one that had ultimately torn them apart and brought her profound unhappiness over the past year.

  Although she couldn’t explain why, her desire to help this man, this stranger, was different than any other time before. Stronger.

  Personal.

  Had the Lord brought Will to her for a reason?

  No. This entire meeting was a mistake. She didn’t know him. And he didn’t know her, regardless of what he seemed to think.

  Baby Grace chose that moment to wiggle in her sleep and then cry out in frustration. Bridget had been holding on too tightly.

  Loosening her grip, she took a step back. Away from Will. Away from whatever it was drawing her to him.

  The shadows cast by the ship enveloped her, bringing instant relief from the heat of the day.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, wishing she could be of more help but knowing it was best to walk away.

  His face turned impassive, but she recognized the desperation that lay just below the surface. He wasn’t going to walk away from her. Not yet. Not until he was certain she wasn’t the woman he’d come searching for.

  Oddly enough, Bridget wasn’t surprised by his determination. Will was not a man who accepted defeat easily. She wasn’t sure how she knew that about him. She just knew.

  How was it she understood more about his stranger than she had Daniel, a man she’d known all her life and had been willing to marry?

  “Perhaps this will spark your memory.” Will reached inside his coat and retrieved what looked like a letter. He unfolded the worn parchment and thrust it toward her.

  Rearranging the sleeping baby in her arms, Bridget took the letter. The handwriting with its soft, looping scroll clearly belonged to a female.

  A female that was not her.

  Nevertheless she read each word slowly, carefully, and soon realized she was holding an acceptance letter. The woman had agreed to become this man’s bride. Not just any bride, his mail-order bride.

  Bridget tried not to gasp aloud. She’d heard of such things. The potato famine had left many families destitute, eager to latch on to any lifeline, even if it meant marrying a stranger and moving far from home. But as she looked at Will from beneath her lowered lashes she decided he didn’t seem the type who needed to pay a woman to marry him. He was too handsome, too inherently confident, too…masculine.

  Women should be lining up to become his wife.

  Yet he’d sent all the way to Ireland for a bride.

  Hands shaking, Bridget turned over t
he letter and skimmed to the bottom. The signature read Bridget Collins.

  He did, indeed, have the wrong woman. Sorrow settled inside her heart. The sensation made her feel as though she’d lost something important, life-changing.

  She sighed.

  Without meeting Will’s gaze directly, Bridget returned the letter to him. “I was right. You have the wrong woman.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady, even to her own ears. “My name isn’t Bridget Collins. It’s Bridget Murphy.”

  For a long, tense moment he looked taken aback by her words. He swallowed once, twice and again, each time harder than the first.

  “You did not write this letter?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” Why she felt the need to apologize, she couldn’t say. But he seemed truly shocked by the news and she wanted to make everything better. If only she knew how.

  “I see.” He glanced down at the baby. Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You are already married.”

  “No. I am not. I—”

  “Forgive me.” He took a step back. A very large step, the gesture confirming her worst fears. He thought Grace was hers and she’d had the child out of wedlock.

  “The baby isn’t mine,” she said in a halting voice.

  “Of course not.” He turned to go.

  “No. Wait.” She reached out a hand to his retreating back then quickly curled it around the baby once more. “Please.”

  He swung back around to face her, a question in his eyes.

  Although she knew she would never see him again, she couldn’t bear him thinking ill of her. “This is baby Grace,” she said past the lump in her throat. “I’m holding her for my sister.”

  It was the truth, if not entirely accurate. The situation was far too complicated to explain in a few succinct sentences.

  “I understand.”

  Did he? Oh, his words were kind enough, but in the next instant he gave her a formal nod of his head. The gesture was cool, polite and an obvious dismissal. Yet he didn’t leave right away. He just stood there staring at her.