Mistaken Bride. Renee Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 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 СКАЧАТЬ