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Mistaken Bride
Renee Ryan
THE WRONG BRIDE…THE RIGHT WOMAN?When William Black’s mail-order bride fails to appear at the Boston docks, he’s relieved when beautiful, vibrant Bridget Murphy steps in. However, she has a surprise in store. She will be a temporary nanny to his young twins…but she will not marry without love.Faith Glen, Massachusetts, is worlds away from the poverty Bridget knew in Ireland. And William Black couldn’t be more different from her faithless ex-fiancé. Yet that integrity Bridget so admires binds William to a promise that could keep them apart forever. In this new land of opportunity, does she dare to wish for a happy ending?Irish Brides: Adventure—and love—await these Irish sisters on the way to America…



The wrong bride…the right woman?
When William Black’s mail-order bride fails to appear at the Boston docks, he’s relieved when beautiful, vibrant Bridget Murphy steps in. However, she has a surprise in store. She will be a temporary nanny to his young twins…but she will not marry without love.
Faith Glen, Massachusetts, is worlds away from the poverty Bridget knew in Ireland. And William Black couldn’t be more different from her faithless ex-fiancé. Yet that integrity Bridget so admires binds William to a promise that could keep them apart forever. In this new land of opportunity, does she dare to wish for a happy ending?
“What will you do now?”
Will answered without hesitation. “Find another bride.”
“I see. Perhaps you should consider hiring a nanny, at least for now.”
“No.” He gave one decisive shake of his head.
“I don’t want my children getting used to someone who will eventually leave them like…” He let his words trail off.
“Won’t you at least consider me for the position? It would be a great honor to—”
“No.” His tone indicated the discussion was over. His children already adored Bridget. If she took a position in his home, then changed her mind, where would that leave Olivia and Caleb?
Although…
What if Will made a different offer? What if he supplied her with a more permanent position in his home?
“Bridget Murphy.” He captured her hand in his and held on tight. “Would you consider becoming my wife?”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.
She lives an action-packed life in Georgia, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.

Mistaken Bride
Renee Ryan


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
—1 Corinthians 13:13
To Harlequin Love Inspired editors Emily Rodmell and Elizabeth Mazer. Thank you for your hard work and unceasing efforts in editing this book. I’m in your debt. Your suggestions made the story much stronger. It was a joy working with you both!
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Renee Ryan
for her contribution to the Irish Brides miniseries.
Contents
Chapter One (#ub3e69221-2ca1-5ea3-8ab9-5ab5b026eef0)
Chapter Two (#u5272d5c6-e6ab-5716-8ea9-ecc2d8f0ebe9)
Chapter Three (#u698244c5-cc15-5764-9503-0290d232a9bc)
Chapter Four (#u762fecce-ed18-57ce-9f41-5f0177e4eaac)
Chapter Five (#u4f8e200d-32ac-5aed-b086-f311beb5b7af)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Boston Harbor, July 1850
To Bridget Murphy’s way of thinking the voyage to America was more than a thrilling journey across the vast Atlantic Ocean. It was the beginning of a new life. For her and her two sisters. But especially for her.
From the moment she’d boarded the Annie McGee, Bridget was simply Bridget, the soft-spoken Irish lass earning her way to America as a stand-in nanny for the Atwater family.
No more humiliation hanging over her head. No more whispers trailing in her wake. The past had finally become the past.
And now the wait was over. Today she would begin her new life in earnest. Endless possibilities awaited her in her new country—her new home.
Bridget leaned over the ship’s railing for her first glimpse of America, the ribbon streamers at her elbows billowed in the breeze. A gasp of delight flew past her lips, not only because she felt very smart in her new green sateen dress, but at the sight that met her gaze. Chaos, utter and complete chaos, met her gaze. The air vibrated with seagull shrieks, calls for carriages, laughter and commands.
Caught up in the madness, she took a moment and simply watched the activity below. Passengers disembarked the ship with hurried steps. Workmen staggered under the weight of their cargo. Carts full of wares were scattered everywhere. Children darted headlong past the lopsided piles.
Although she recognized many of the people already on the docks, none noticed her.
More the better.
A sudden movement in the distance caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes. A man, alone, worked his way through the crowd with methodical grace. His tall, lithe form stopped every few moments to speak with one of the passengers. There was something about him…
Something that tugged at her very core.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away.
He moved with the kind of steps only a man confident in his own worth could pull off. Bridget placed her hand on her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun and continued watching him. He had broad shoulders, long legs and lean hips. Even though she couldn’t see him clearly from this distance, she knew his eyes would be a vivid, piercing blue. The kind of color that turned silver in the light.
A little shocked at herself, at the fact that she was admiring a man when her heart was still so tender, she tried to pull back, to duck out of sight. But she found herself leaning forward ever so slightly.
As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked straight in her direction.
Her breath caught in her throat and she pulled back from the rail. Surely he hadn’t seen her watching him. The distance was far too great.
Torn between embarrassment and a sudden wish to see the man up close, to discover if his eyes were truly the color of the sky, she hesitated a moment longer. She’d tarried long enough.
Joining the rest of her fellow passengers, she hurried across the ship’s main deck. She’d told the Atwater siblings farewell earlier this morning. Pamela, the youngest, had been the saddest over their parting. Well, besides Bridget. Laurel and Hilary had been too busy arguing over a treasured bonnet to care overmuch that they’d never see their temporary nanny again.
Bridget sighed to herself. The journey hadn’t been long enough to win over the older two girls. If only—
No. No more regrets. No more if only. Bridget was finished trying to fix the unfixable. Never again would she dwell on things she couldn’t change.
Increasing her pace, her boot heels struck the weathered planks in perfect rhythm with the rapid beating of her heart.
She’d lost sight of her older sister, Nora. No matter. Nora, being Nora, had prepared for this very contingency and had set up a common meeting place near the gangplank.
Not wishing to hear yet another lecture on setting priorities and keeping to timetables, Bridget increased her pace. She resisted the urge to look over the railing at the wharf below. Was he still there? Winding his way through the thick knots of people and cargo, looking for someone in particular? Someone special?
Who? she wondered.
Without breaking stride, Bridget tossed a jaunty wave at the widow Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who had befriended the Murphy sisters on the journey. With her was her attendant Stillman and the three McCorkle brothers Mrs. Fitzwilliam had taken in as her wards. Good-hearted, gracious souls, getting to know them all had been a real blessing. Already running late, Bridget did not stop to speak to them.
Then again…
She’d already fallen behind. What would be the harm in saying one more goodbye to her new friend and those darling boys?
Just as she changed direction, a throng of passengers surged from behind, shoving her back on course at an even greater speed. She would have to catch up with Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the boys later.
Nearing her destination, Bridget wrenched free of the crowd and slid into another small, unoccupied spot along the ship’s railing. At the precise location she’d been told.
Nora was nowhere in sight.
More relieved than annoyed, Bridget took a deep, steadying breath. And promptly wrinkled her nose in chagrin.
Throughout the month-long journey across the Atlantic, she had created vivid pictures of America in her mind. She had not accounted for the smell.
She raised a gloved hand to her mouth. One moment passed. Two. On the third she drew in another tentative gulp of air. Her eyes immediately filled with water. The stench was truly, truly awful. A mixture of rotting fish, animal sweat, burnt tar and something else entirely—garbage, perhaps?
Another jostle from behind and Nora wiggled in beside her.
“There you are,” Nora said, familiar frustration in her tone. “You weren’t here earlier.”
Bridget ignored the gentle reprimand and smiled at her sister. She, too, wore her new dress, a gift from fellow passengers Ardeen Nolan and her aunt, Mrs. Kennedy. “Don’t fuss, Nora. I only just arrived.”
“Well, that explains it, then.”
With her dark chestnut hair parted in the middle and contained in a tight bun, Nora should look severe. Instead, she positively glowed. Perhaps it was the vivid blue of her new gown. Or the paisley shawl. Or perhaps Nora glowed for an entirely different reason.
They had arrived safely in America and had added a new member to their small family.
Smiling, Bridget lowered her gaze to the squirming infant clutched possessively in her sister’s arms. “I see no one has come forward to claim baby Grace.”
Nora’s pretty blue eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Not a single person.”
Bridget bit her lip to keep from stating the obvious—that Grace had likely been left behind for good. She’d suggested it before, but Nora refused to believe it. Sometimes Nora was the wisest person she knew, and sometimes surprisingly naive. Baby Grace had been abandoned days after her birth. Nora had found her shortly after the start of their journey, and had cared for her ever since.
“I suppose she’ll have to make do with us for the time being.” And Bridget wasn’t completely sorry for it, either. The baby had become a part of both their lives, Nora’s more than hers, even if only on a temporary basis. Grace wasn’t really theirs, no matter how much they wished it to be so, but for now, they were all she had.
Nora looked out in the distance, her eyes taking on a troubled look. “I’m sure there’s been a mistake.” She lowered her gaze to the child in her arms. “Who could abandon such a precious little girl?”
Who, indeed?
In Bridget’s estimation anyone who walked away from their own baby didn’t know the first thing about love. Every child deserved to be loved. Even the difficult ones.
Familiar stirrings of regret filled her. She had so wanted to turn all three Atwater girls into friends, as much as charges. She’d almost succeeded. With a little more time…
She was doing it again. Trying to change the unchangeable.
“We’ll have to report her situation to the American authorities as soon as possible,” Nora said only halfheartedly.
It was, of course, the right thing to do.
Though Grace’s mother had left her behind, there may well be other family with a claim.
“I suppose we must.” Bridget reached out and touched the baby’s flawless cheek. Large blue eyes stared back at her. “She’s really quite beautiful, isn’t she?”
“She’s perfect.”
Bridget couldn’t argue with that bit of truth. All children were a gift straight from the Lord. One day Bridget wanted at least five tiny blessings for herself.
A space opened up along the gangplank and she started forward, then stopped and looked back at Nora. “Are we to meet Maeve here or on the docks below?”
“Below,” she said. “Flynn had a few last-minute details he needed to address before he could leave the ship. Maeve chose to stay behind with him.”
Of course she had. Bridget’s younger sister adored her new husband, as did they all. The ship’s doctor was now a part of their family. Best of all, Maeve’s shipboard romance had restored Bridget’s faith in the possibility of finding love again for herself.
Love. Romance. Marriage.
Were they still possible for her at the age of four and twenty? Had she missed her chance when Daniel had decided he didn’t want to marry her?
She ignored the pang in her heart and reminded herself anything was possible with God. Despite the thirteen years between their ages, Flynn Gallagher was a perfect match for Maeve. Their union was a blessing and a testimony to the power of love.
Finished feeling sorry for herself, Bridget tossed her shoulders back and stepped away from the railing. “Right, then. Here we go.”
Without looking back, she moved onto the gangplank. For once Nora allowed her to take the lead.
All the planning, prayer and gathering of meager funds had brought them to this glorious day. The moment Bridget’s feet touched the wooden dock, her legs wobbled beneath her and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Nora, we’re finally in America. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Breathtaking.” Nora made a face. “As long as you cover your nose.”
Bridget waved a dismissive hand. Nothing was going to ruin this moment for her. Not even the awful smells. Besides, Boston wasn’t their final destination. Once they gathered their few belongings, Flynn would hire a carriage to take them to the small town of Faith Glen.
Faith Glen. The name had a nice Irish ring to it.
Heart slamming against her ribs, Bridget turned in a slow circle. She wavered a bit, not yet used to the feel of the docks beneath her. There were so many sights to take in, so much noise to filter through her mind. The shouts and laughter mingled together from every corner of the wharf.
A stiff breeze kicked up, tugging several tendrils free from their pins. Bridget shoved at her loose hair, which was quickly becoming an untidy mess. It seemed the wind always won the battle against her best efforts to tame her unruly curls.
She waved at her new friends, Ardeen and her aunt. They returned the gesture but didn’t approach, too intent on finding their luggage. The two had been so kind to Bridget and her sisters. Ardeen wasn’t particularly young, but was attractive and fashionable. Mrs. Kennedy was shorter and a little fuller figured. Both were single and appeared out of their depth amidst the chaos on the wharf. Bridget should help.
“Watch yourself,” came a shout from behind her.
With only seconds to spare Bridget dashed out of the way of a cart careening by. Undaunted by the near-miss, she cut a glance to the other end of the wharf but couldn’t find Ardeen and Mrs. Kennedy.
People of every age, size and station milled about. Caught up in the excitement, Bridget gravitated to a location out of the main thoroughfare. All she wanted to do was watch, listen and learn the many secrets of her new homeland.
“Stay focused, Bridget.” Nora placed a light touch to her arm. “We still need to locate our luggage before we rendezvous with Maeve and Flynn.” Her tone was pure Nora—brisk, efficient and more than a little impatient.
Nora was in her sensible mood. Best to move out of the way and let her take charge.
“Why don’t you give Grace to me?” Bridget reached out her arms to the wiggling bundle. “I’ll take her out of the hot sun while you search for our luggage.”
Nora hesitated.
“If I stand over there—” Bridget cocked her head toward a spot directly behind her “—I’ll be able to watch for Maeve and Flynn.”
“That’s not a bad plan.” Slowly, with more than a little reluctance, Nora handed over the baby. “But stay put,” she ordered, her warning gaze proving she knew there was a good chance Bridget might not do as commanded. “I won’t be long.”
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 enough 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 the 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.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” She meant every word.
“As am I.”
Once again he turned to go. This time he stopped himself before he took the next step. “Might I ask you one last question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you know Bridget Collins?”
She searched her brain, reviewing all the women and girls she’d met on board the Annie McGee named Bridget. It was a common enough name, so much so she counted four off the top of her head. None of them had the last name Collins, though, not that she remembered. Then again, she hadn’t known most of her fellow passengers’ full names.
Collins. The name triggered a memory, one Bridget couldn’t quite grasp. There was a Collins family back in Castleville and there were several daughters among the eight children. Had there been a Bridget among them?
Yes, that must be why the name sounded familiar. “I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting your Bridget aboard ship.”
“Pity.”
It was, indeed.
“Thank you for your understanding, Bridget, I mean, Miss Murphy.” He shoved his hat onto his head. “I apologize for disturbing you and the child.”
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 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 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?”
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.
Was someone out there missing the tiny infant? If that was so, why hadn’t she, or perhaps even he, come forward to claim the child? What terrible event had occurred to warrant abandoning a newborn in the ship’s galley?
They may never find a definitive answer.
And Bridget had another pressing matter to address, one she hoped would bring Will certainty if not relief.
As she stopped in front of her youngest sister, Bridget couldn’t help but notice how good Maeve and Grace looked together, how natural.
Maeve had left her hair falling in loose curls down her back. Like Bridget and Nora, she wore her new dress, as well. Hers was a French plaid, the orange, yellow and green setting off her coloring. Her rich strawberry-blond hair had turned a soft ginger in the sunlight and she looked as pretty as a picture as she smiled down at the baby.
Maeve would make a wonderful mother, evidenced by the careful attention she showed Grace now. Bridget once again experienced a pang of regret. Had Daniel wanted to marry her, had he followed through with his promise, she could be holding her own baby right now.
Bridget didn’t take the time to linger over the thought. “Maeve, where’s your husband?” Impatience made her voice just short of shrill. “I need Flynn at once.”
“What’s the rush?” Maeve’s eyes widened. “Has someone been hurt?”
“No, nothing like that.” Bridget shook her head decisively. “But I need Flynn’s help right now.”
“Whatever for?” Maeve’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
Holding on to the last thread of her patience, Bridget quickly explained Will’s situation. Nora added what she thought she remembered about the girl who’d fallen from the forecastle. Between the two of them they laid out the sequence of events as best they could recall.
When they finished Maeve’s gaze turned thoughtful, then sad. From that look alone, Bridget knew her sister remembered the day the girl in question had died. Maeve never forgot a patient, nor did Flynn for that matter, but this one’s death was especially heartbreaking.
“Do you remember her?” Bridget asked, trying her best to keep her voice steady. “Did you ever discover her name? Was she Bridget? Bridget Collins?”
Maeve’s eyes misted slightly, a small switch in mood, easily missed if Bridget hadn’t been looking. “As the ship’s doctor, and custodian of all the medical records on board, Flynn would be the one to ask.”
Bridget wasn’t fooled by her sister’s evasive words. Maeve knew the answer, but wasn’t saying anything more.
“Please, Maeve. It’s important. Will has been searching for his bride all morning, wondering why he can’t find her. Wouldn’t it be best for him to know the truth, whatever it is, even if it’s bad news?”
“You know I can’t give you that information, Bridget.” An apology settled in Maeve’s eyes. “I was only an assistant in the infirmary. You’ll have to ask Flynn.”
“Ask me what?”
Bridget swung around at the sound of the familiar deep voice, her gaze landing squarely on Maeve’s new husband, Dr. Flynn Gallagher. Or rather, her gaze landed on Dr. Flynn Gallagher’s black cravat.
The man was taller than any of the Murphy sisters, even Nora. He was muscular and lean like William Black, just as handsome and so in love with his new wife that he reflexively looked to Maeve for the answer to his question as though she was the only one in their tiny group.
Maeve nodded to Bridget. “Go on,” she urged. “Tell him what you just told me.”
Practically shaking with impatience, Bridget went through the story again, faster this time and without waiting for Nora’s input. Just as she drew to the end of the tale she caught sight of Will exiting the building he’d entered only a few moments before. Head down, jaw firm, he approached yet another group of passengers.
He must have been unsuccessful in the shipping office.
“There.” She pointed to Will. “That’s him, the man approaching that small cluster of people.”
Her hand moved instinctively in his direction, aching to soothe away his worries. She started out.
“No, Bridget.” Flynn stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “You’ve done your duty. Let me handle the rest.”
“But—”
“I insist you stay here with your sisters.” He shared a look with his wife, one that seemed to communicate a message only the two of them understood.
Maeve quickly stood, handed the baby to Nora and then drew alongside her husband. Side by side they made a dazzling pair.
“It’ll be all right, Bridget.” Maeve touched her arm and smiled. “Flynn will handle the matter with great care, like he always does.”
Flynn dropped a tender kiss to Maeve’s forehead. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He left them to stare after his retreating back.
Bridget had always considered herself an obedient woman, one who usually adhered to the Christian precepts of ideal female behavior. Her manners were impeccable, as well. Consequently she shocked even herself when she trotted after Flynn, all the while ignoring Maeve’s cries to leave the matter alone, that it didn’t concern her. The same words Nora had used earlier.
She knew it didn’t concern her. And yet, somehow, after all that had happened, it did.
She picked up her pace.
With determination on her side, and the element of surprise, she bypassed Flynn at the last possible moment and approached Will first.
As though sensing her standing behind him, he turned to face her at the very same moment she spoke his name.
He seemed stunned to see her again. “Bridget?”
Breathless from her rapid trek across the docks, her words came out in a jumbled rush. “I have brought someone to help you find your bride, or at least give you more information.”
The look in his blue, blue eyes plainly said: What are you talking about?
“The ship’s doctor,” she said in reply, her heart pounding with the force of her urgency. “I have come to introduce you.”
She didn’t have time to explain further before Flynn closed the distance between them.
Will lifted his gaze from her to Flynn then thrust out his hand. “William Black.”
With his characteristic professional manner, Flynn took the offered hand. “Flynn Gallagher, the doctor in charge of the infirmary on the Annie McGee.”
Will wasted no time getting to the point. “Do you know what happened to Bridget Collins on the voyage over?”
The ensuing silence pressed in on them all. Will looked so concerned, so in need of kindness. Bridget almost went to him and wrapped her arms around him.
“I believe I can enlighten you.” Flynn’s expression was that of a man about to give the most terrible news of all.
Will must have understood what was about to come because he asked, “Is she…dead?”
“I’m afraid that she—” Flynn cut off the rest of his words and looked down at Bridget. He frowned at her briefly then returned his attention to Will. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation aboard the Annie McGee. Just the two of us.”
Bridget opened her mouth to object, but Flynn stopped her with a look. “My dear Bridget,” he said, his voice filled with equal parts authority and understanding. “You must wait with your sisters while I escort Mr. Black to the infirmary.”
And with that one sentence her dear brother-in-law had revealed his intentions. He had no plans of allowing her to accompany them any further. Perhaps, like Maeve and Nora, he didn’t think the matter was any of her business.
Did Will agree? She glanced into his vivid expression and discovered her answer. He didn’t want her in the infirmary with him, either.
Horrified to feel the sting of tears, she lowered her gaze and concentrated blindly on the wooden dock below her feet. She knew the matter was none of her business, and yet…
And yet…
They were all correct. She had no right to insinuate herself into a stranger’s private affairs. She should have realized that sooner. Her concern had made her act impulsively, perhaps even rudely. She’d meddled, something so unlike her that her cheeks began to flame.
Clenching her fingers into the material of her skirt, she forced a pleasant smile onto her lips. “I will tell Maeve where you are.”
“No.” Flynn’s voice stopped her from leaving. “On second thought, please have my wife join Mr. Black and me in the infirmary.”
Hard as she tried to remain calm, Bridget cast him a dark look. Why would Flynn allow his wife to accompany him on this errand and not her?
He answered her unspoken question aloud. “Your sister was my assistant, Bridget. As such, she was in charge of keeping the medical records in order. Maeve will know precisely where to look for the information Mr. Black needs.”
How could Bridget possibly argue with that bit of logic? “Of course.” She released her death grip on her skirt. “I will tell her to find you at once.”
Before she turned to go, Will covered her hand with the reassuring pressure of his own. “Thank you, Bridget.” He squeezed gently. “Thank you for your help and…thank you.”
For a moment she stared down at his fingers wrapped around her own, wondering why she experienced that mystifying feeling again, the one where puzzle pieces seemed to be fitting together perfectly. “Oh, Will, you are quite welcome.”
He released her hand.
This time when she turned to go, neither man stopped her. As she made her way back across the docks, for good this time, Bridget only looked back in Will’s direction once. All right, twice. She only looked back twice.
Chapter Four
As it turned out, Flynn and Maeve did not accompany them to Faith Glen. The last Bridget saw of the pair were their retreating backs as they climbed the gangplank, with William Black following closely behind. Maeve had told Nora and Bridget to go on without them and Nora, efficient to a fault, had them on the road in no time at all.
If Bridget was truthful with herself she’d admit she wasn’t completely sorry Maeve and Flynn weren’t making the trip to the new town just yet. Since Flynn had a house in Boston, she knew they would be just fine on their own. Better than fine. Although Bridget would miss her sister dreadfully, the newlyweds needed time alone.
That left Bridget and Nora the task of claiming the house bequeathed to their mother. Her stomach rolled at the thought, at the possibility all may not turn out as they hoped. The rocking of the carriage added to her queasiness.
Swallowing back her nausea, she focused on the scenery passing by. The countryside was very green, the gently rolling hills much like the ones they’d left back in Ireland. The lingering sound and smell of the ocean was familiar, as well.
A sense of homecoming filled her.
She caught Nora’s eye.
Her sister smiled. “I’ve directed the driver to stop at the Sheriff’s Office before we head to the house.”
“I suppose it’s for the best.” She tried not to sigh again. She’d done quite enough of that for one day. “I assume you plan to publicly announce Grace is in our care?”
“It’s the right thing to do, Bridget. She’s not ours.”
“She feels like ours.”
“Yes, she does.” Nora’s eyes filled with tears. She lowered her head and whispered, “Grá mo chroí.” Sweetheart in Gaelic.
The baby’s little eyelids fluttered open and she yawned. Nora was already rummaging in her bag. A few seconds later and Grace suckled a bottle of milk in noisy contentment.
Leaning her head against the cushions behind her, Nora breathed out deeply.
“Tired?” Bridget asked.
“A bit. But excited, too.” She straightened. “We should probably show the deed to the sheriff while we’re there. If nothing else, he’ll be able to direct us to the house.”
Or take it away from them. “Oh, Nora. What if the deed isn’t legal?”
The horrible scenario was possible. Laird O’Malley, a former suitor of their mother’s, had left for America years ago. He’d been heartbroken their mother hadn’t wanted to marry him, but not enough that he’d lost hope she would one day change her mind.
He’d built her a house in Faith Glen and had put the deed of ownership in her name. The wording had made it possible for Colleen Murphy’s daughters to inherit the property.
Or so they were all counting on.
But what if they were wrong? What if the property wasn’t theirs for the taking? This entire trip to America had hinged on that promise.
As though sensing where her mind had gone, Nora nudged Bridget’s foot with the toe of her boot. “You leave the worrying to me, Bridget Murphy. I had the document verified in Ireland. Everything will work out fine.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”
Nora patently ignored the question. “We’ll stop at the Sheriff’s Office, report Grace’s situation and then head to our new home.”
Their new home. What a wonderful, exciting, terrifying prospect. But what if the deed wasn’t legal, or if the house had been torn down?
Faith. All she needed was a little more faith.
Stiffening her spine, Bridget turned her attention back to the passing scenery. The road ran parallel to a small, fast-moving river. If she closed her eyes she could envision walking the high banks, dipping her toes in the fresh, cool water. There was a man by her side. A tall man with dark hair and blue eyes the color of the midday sky. The haunted look was gone from his expression and…
Bridget quickly snapped open her eyes. William Black was not the man of her dreams. He couldn’t be. There was no man in her dreams—not after what Daniel had done. And even if, sometime in the future, she let herself trust a man enough to consider love and marriage—well, surely Will wouldn’t be the man at her side. For all she knew he’d sorted out the situation with his missing bride and was at this very moment escorting the woman to his home in Boston.
She paused midthought, realizing it would do her no good to dwell on a man she would never see again.
Determined to put William Black out of her mind, her gaze landed on a sizable building, a mill of some sort. The large wheel churning in the river filled the moment with the happy, trickling sound of rushing water. The scent wafting in the air was nothing she’d ever smelled before, a heavy, almost sweet aroma.
Delighted, Bridget leaned out the carriage window. A few moments later they crested a hill and a small village came into view. The large green-and-white wooden sign in the shape of a rectangle identified the town as Faith Glen.
The main feature of the town was a tidy village square. A white clapboard church dominated all the other buildings. A general store sat on one side of the church and on the other was—Bridget squinted to read the sign hooked to the porch ceiling—Rose’s Boardinghouse.
On the opposite side of the square was the Sheriff’s Office. The bars on the windows gave it away, as did the fact that the structure had been built out of stone. Not brick or wood like the other buildings in town, but solid stone.
“We’re nearly there,” Bridget said.
Nora pulled the bottle from Grace’s mouth and gently swung the child to her shoulder. When the carriage drew to a stop Bridget scrambled out of the carriage ahead of her sister.
The driver, an older man with thinning hair and a thick, handlebar mustache, had already released the ropes securing their trunks and was fast at work unloading their belongings.
Bridget rushed forward. “What are you doing? We haven’t reached our final destination yet.”
“This is as far as I go, miss.” His gruff voice had a Scottish burr underneath the words. And a hint of meanness.
“But Dr. Gallagher paid you to take us to our new home.”
“He paid me enough to get you to the town,” he corrected. “Not a foot more.”
That was a bold-faced lie. Bridget knew Flynn would never leave them stranded like this.
“It’s all right, Bridget,” Nora said, exiting the carriage with sure steps. “We’ll ask the sheriff for assistance once our business is complete.”
Bridget relented, a little, but only because the driver was already in his seat and spurring his horses forward.
“Well, now.” A deep, masculine voice drifted over her. “What have we here?”
Heart lodged in her throat, Bridget swung around to face a tall man with kind eyes. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, the man looked to be of Nordic descent. The tin star pinned to his chest told her she was staring at the sheriff of Faith Glen.
He was very handsome, in a rugged, earthy sort of way, and Bridget immediately noticed how Nora stood frozen in place, eyes blinking rapidly as she stared at him.
Bridget’s sentiments exactly. In the next few minutes they would either lose Grace or their new home, perhaps both, or—God willing—take the next step in claiming a new life for themselves in America.
When Bridget and Nora continued staring at him, neither making a move to speak, the man smiled warmly. “I’m Cameron Long. The sheriff of Faith Glen.” His gaze lingered a moment longer on Nora than Bridget. “What brings you two lovely women to our fair town?”
When Nora remained surprisingly silent under the sheriff’s scrutiny, Bridget stepped forward. “My name is Bridget Murphy and this is my sister Nora. We’ve just arrived from Ireland—”
Grace let out an earsplitting wail. Bridget smiled. “And that healthy-lunged child is Grace. One of the reasons we’ve come here today.”
He glanced briefly at the bundle in Nora’s arms, then proceeded to ignore Grace. “You’ve come to Faith Glen because of a baby?”
“No.” Nora found her voice at last. “We came to you because of a baby.”
His eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Me?”
“You are the sheriff of Faith Glen?” Nora looked pointedly at his badge. “Are you not?”
Instead of being offended by the haughty tone, Cameron Long appeared amused. “I am, indeed.”
His lips quirked at an attractive, lopsided angle, making him look even more handsome than before.
And if Bridget wasn’t mistaken, she heard Nora’s breath hitch in her throat. Interesting. But unsurprisingly, her sister recovered quickly and explained how they’d found the baby in the ship’s galley. “When no one came to claim her, we realized the child had been abandoned. And we,” Nora said as she smiled at Bridget, “plan to care for her until someone comes forward to claim her.”
“Commendable, to be sure,” he said, his eyes again holding Nora’s a beat too long. “But that doesn’t explain why you’ve brought the baby to me. Why not report her situation to the authorities in Boston?”
“Can you not do that for us?” Nora asked.
“Of course I can.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But that doesn’t explain why you are here, in Faith Glen.”
Nora turned to Bridget. “Show him the deed.”
She dutifully reached inside her reticule and retrieved the precious document that had led them to America.
The sheriff accepted the deed and Bridget held her breath. After what seemed an endless eternity, he raised his head. “Who is Colleen Murphy?”
“Our mother,” Nora answered. “She died ten years ago.”
He considered her response a moment then redirected his gaze to the document once again.
“Is the deed legal or not?” Nora demanded, her patience evidently reaching its end.
“It would appear so.”
“Well, then.” She plucked the paper out of his hand, relief softening the tight lines around her mouth. “If you would be so kind as to direct us to our home we would be ever grateful.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Bridget gasped. “But you said the deed was legal.”
“I said it appears to be legal.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, there’s no way of knowing for certain until we check your document against the official copy in the County Clerk’s Office.”
Bridget’s heart sank. “But we were told the deed was all we needed to claim the property.”
“That may be true in Ireland, but not in the state of Massachusetts. Every land deal requires two copies of the transaction.” He spoke with genuine remorse, as though he understood how important this was to them.
“Two copies.” Bridget pushed the words past a very tense jaw. No one had warned them of this possibility.
“The law originated back in the early colonial days,” he explained. “When fraud was at a premium.”
Nora rose to her full height. “We did not travel all this way to commit fraud.”
“Didn’t say that you had.” He lifted his broad shoulders in a gesture surprisingly elegant for such a big man. “Nevertheless the law requires that the original deed be compared against the copy, the one that is kept in—”
“The County Clerk’s Office,” Nora finished for him. “And where is this…office?”
“In Dedham, about eight miles due north.”
Bridget glanced at the afternoon sky in frustration. Even if they left now, there wouldn’t be enough time to travel eight miles north and back again before the sun set.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
The question had been rhetorical, but the sheriff answered her anyway. “You will be able to verify the deed come Monday morning. I’ll escort you there myself.”
It was a gallant offer, but Monday was three days away.
“It’s just a formality,” he promised, his voice full of encouragement, his smile wide.
“Will you at least show us the house?” Bridget asked.
Not quite meeting her gaze, he shook his head no. “I would suggest you wait until we’ve verified ownership.”
He wasn’t telling them something, something important about the house. “But we only wish to see the property.”
“Not today.”
And with those concise words, spoken in the brief, decisive tone of a determined lawman, Bridget accepted the reality of the situation at last. She would have to put her dreams on hold for another three days. Three…more…days.
* * *
Early the next morning Will entered his private study with a heavy heart and a mind full of turmoil. Regret played with his composure as he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and closed his hand in a tight fist. Bridget Collins had, indeed, fallen to her death. And now he was in possession of the girl’s luggage, the undeniable proof of her identity.
Closing his eyes, he sucked in a harsh breath. He’d been responsible for the woman, having taken on the cost of her passage and ensuring the details of her trip were in order. Yet he’d failed her. And, in the process, his children, as well. His sad, motherless children.
Will swallowed back the hard ache rising in his throat. He was in no better position than before he’d decided to acquire a mail-order bride. Acquire. What a miserable way to put it, as though finding a wife was a matter of walking over to the general store and pointing to the woman he liked best. There. That one, I want that one to be my wife.
He should have known better.
Yet what other choice had there been? His aging mother was doing her best with the children. But the physical demands were taking their toll.
Running a hand through his hair, Will looked out the bay of windows on his right. The sun was making its grand entrance for the day, spreading tentative, golden fingers through the hazy dawn. A kaleidoscope of moving shadows flickered across the floor at his feet, creating an eerie accompaniment to his somber mood.
Pulling out the ledger he’d brought home with him from the mill, Will went to work. Despite the early hour, the air already felt hot and sticky and promised to turn unbearable once the sun was fully in the sky. He’d made the right decision to close the mill for the next two days. Grinding cocoa beans and turning them into blocks of chocolate was hot work on any given day. Deadly during a heat wave like this one.
Will was proud of the fact that the Huntley-Black Mill had a reputation for treating its workers well. He employed most of the residents of Faith Glen, including many of the Irish immigrants unable to find work elsewhere.
An unexpected image materialized in his head of the pretty Irish lass he’d met yesterday on the docks in Boston. Bridget Murphy had been beautiful and compassionate. But not his. His Bridget was dead.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, rubbing his forehead with his palm. The gesture did nothing to relieve the ache growing stronger behind his eyes.
He had to find someone to care for his children, a stable woman who wouldn’t leave them when boredom struck and then show up again when the round of parties ceased to amuse her. In other words, a woman nothing like their mother. At least in death Fanny had finally offered her children the consistency she’d denied them in life.
But her loss had still come at a cost to both Olivia and Caleb. They were far too subdued for their age. Will had never wanted perfect children in his home. He wanted happy children.
A tentative knock sounded at the door. He set down the quill and called out, “It’s open.”
The door creaked on its hinges and soon a head full of white-silver hair poked through the tiny opening.
“Well,” his mother said with a smile. “You’re up early.”
“No earlier than usual.”
“I suppose not.” She stepped deeper into the room, looking especially tired this morning with the dull light emphasizing the purple shadows under her eyes.
He’d intended to bring home his new bride last night, one who would take the burden off his mother and love his children as much as he did. A beautiful woman with wild, dark hair, mesmerizing green eyes, a soft Irish lilt and…
Wrong woman, Will. You’re thinking about the wrong woman.
He slammed the ledger shut. No more work today. Not for him, or his mother.
Rising, he shoved the chair out of his way and then circled around his desk. Everything in him softened as he caught sight of two small heads peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts.
He might have vowed never to love another woman after Fanny, but Olivia and Caleb were a different matter altogether. His love for his twins grew daily, his heart nearly bursting with emotion at times like this.
If only he could figure out a way to let them know they were allowed to be happy, playful. Even noisy and messy sometimes. He feared they followed too closely after his own sober, saddened behavior, and wished he knew how to bring some joy into their lives. And his own.
“I see we have more early risers.” He bent low enough to look into both children’s eyes. “Good morning, Olivia, Caleb.”
They each gave him a wobbly smile in return. Will hated these moments, when he couldn’t read his own children’s moods. Their three-year-old thoughts were impossible to decipher behind those solemn masks.
Nevertheless, he forged ahead. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison, their words filled with that polite tone he dreaded most.
Hoping to alleviate their shyness, Will opened his arms in silent appeal and went for the direct approach. “Can I have a morning hug?”
Caleb toed the ornate rug at his feet, his eyes huge and luminous. Olivia’s mouth slowly quirked into a sweet, tentative grin. A heartbeat later she rushed forward and flung her spindly arms around Will’s neck.
His throat tightened.
With Olivia tucked in close, he reached out and ruffled Caleb’s hair. The little boy lifted his chin, the look so full of adoration Will found himself struggling for his next breath. These two beautiful, perfect children were the best thing he’d done in his thirty years of life. He would not fail them.
Letting go of his shyness, Caleb launched himself into the air and landed on top of his sister, tumbling all three of them to the ground. Will shifted midair to soften the children’s fall. In the next moment the sweetest sound of all filled the air. Laughter. His children were laughing.
Will levered himself onto an elbow. Peace filled him as he watched his smiling, happy children. But he knew the moment wouldn’t last long. Far too soon they would grow somber again. His poor, innocent children had faced too much sorrow in their short lives, and here was the sad result. Even if they wanted to continue their moment of playfulness, they simply didn’t know how.
He couldn’t bear it. Not today. “What do you say we go on an outing, just the three of us?” Even Will was surprised at the words that had come out of his mouth. But then again, why not go on an outing? Maybe all three of them could use a lesson in having fun.
Both children froze, their mouths gaping open at him. Caleb was the first to speak. “Truly?”
Will confirmed it with a nod. “Truly.”
“Where?” the little boy asked. “Where will we go?”
“Well…” For a moment his mind went blank. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Olivia scrambled onto his lap. “Can we go to the store?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
The store? He’d had something a little more exciting in mind. Say, fishing. He hadn’t gone fishing in years. Maybe even a decade, before his father had died. “I was thinking about taking you down to the river to try some fishing.”
“Oh.” Olivia clasped her hands together and her tiny shoulders heaved with the force of her disappointment.
Not the reaction he’d hoped for. “You don’t want to go fishing, sweetheart?”
“I’ll go with you, Papa.” Caleb wiggled onto Will’s lap.
“Well, I suppose I could, too, if…” Olivia turned her big blue eyes in his direction, “I can get a new dolly first.”
Now her earlier suggestion to go to the store made sense. His daughter was mad about dolls.
“I think a new dolly is a definite possibility.” He wrapped his arms around the children, pulling each of them close against his chest. “And perhaps a toy ship for Caleb.”
Caleb gasped. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Will squeezed both sets of shoulders. “Now go get dressed and then we’ll leave.”
They sped out of the room, Caleb leading the way. Will smiled after them, pleased by their excitement. They so rarely showed enthusiasm since their mother left.
He clenched his jaw against a jolt of ugly emotion. He tried not to give in to his anger, anger he could just as easily turn inward. Fanny might have started this, with her selfish abandonment of her family, but Will hadn’t done enough to rectify the situation.
That changed today.
Chapter Five
Two. More. Days. Bridget thought she might go mad from the wait. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Rose of Rose’s Boardinghouse was friendly enough. She’d offered Bridget and Nora a place to stay until they discovered if Laird’s house was theirs free and clear. But sitting in someone else’s front parlor and sharing tea with a roomful of strangers, many also from Ireland, wasn’t how Bridget wanted to spend her first full day in America.
The decor didn’t help matters. The room was too ornate, the wallpaper too bold, the furniture too fragile. Taking tea in here, where she was afraid she might spill and ruin the brocade upholstery was—well, not something she wished to endure.
She decided to take a walk instead. She needed to be alone. To think. To plan. And, God forgive her, to worry. With their money running low, she and Nora would have to find jobs soon. But how many prospects were available in a town this size? Surely not many.
With nothing but her depressing thoughts to keep her company, Bridget allowed herself a moment to wallow as she made her way down the boardinghouse stairs. Five steps out she’d remembered God’s faithful promise: Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.
It was a good reminder. So she handed her concerns to the Lord as best she could and made her way around the tidy square. Birds sang a happy tune, the smell of fresh grass and wildflowers wafted on the air, children laughed in the distance. A horse whinnied.
Her heart was already feeling lighter. Oh, the worry was still there, working into a hard knot in the pit of her stomach, but she was able to shove it aside momentarily and focus on her new home.
What treasures awaited her here? Bridget couldn’t wait to find out. She quickened her steps, and stopped at the small building on the opposite side of the church.
The general store wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but it beckoned her forward all the same. Once she pushed through the door, the pleasant smell of spices and lavender filled her nose. The aroma was followed by the scent of grain and oats and—she sniffed—licorice.
There were no other customers that she could tell, only astonishing amounts of merchandise. Bridget swept her gaze across barrels of dry goods, past the sacks of flour and shelves filled with kitchen utensils, canned goods and so much more. The store seemed to have every item imaginable for sale. She noted a counter that not only had jars filled with colorful candy but all sorts of children’s toys. One whole row was dedicated to an array of dolls.
Delighted, Bridget decided to start there and work her way through the rest of the store at her leisure.
Her feet slowed, hesitated, then stopped altogether. She wasn’t alone in the store after all. Two small children studied the shelves of toys in complete silence. They had their backs to Bridget and were huddled close together, hands joined, bodies pressed side by side. By their size, Bridget decided they were somewhere between three and four years old.
A range of emotions sped through her, concern foremost. Their little bodies were unnaturally still as they stared upward.
Why weren’t they fidgeting? Or looking for trouble? Or reaching for the toys they wanted?
Why did they seem so solemn?
The urge to gather them close and comfort them surprised Bridget, especially since she hadn’t yet seen either of their faces to determine if her impressions were correct. They could simply be well-behaved children.
Where were their parents?
She looked over her shoulder. Nobody else seemed to be in the store. Concern took hold.
But then the little girl angled her head and reached up to pull one of the dolls free. Her hand fell short of its goal. The little boy whispered something in her ear then attempted to help her, but his arm was too short, as well.
Bridget couldn’t stand back and watch any longer. She approached the two with slow, careful steps.
“Hello.” She plucked a doll from the shelf, one with a porcelain face behind a cloud of silvery-blond hair and clothed in a lovely, pale blue dress trimmed with white. “Is this what you wanted?”
The child’s eyes widened. She didn’t move right away, as if afraid to touch the doll, but then she reached out and skimmed a fingertip along the sleeve.
While she carefully inspected the doll’s clothing, the boy watched. Bridget took the opportunity to study both children. They had the same color hair, a soft ginger, the same striking features and the same arresting blue eyes. These two were clearly related to one another.
No, not just related. Their similar size and nearly identical features, if a bit more delicate on the girl than the boy, indicated they were twins. They were as darling and as sad as she’d suspected.
The look in their eyes captured her sympathy. This time the feeling was so strong she nearly pulled them into a comforting hug. She didn’t, of course. Such a bold move might scare them.
Yet as Bridget continued looking at them she realized they reminded her of someone, someone she couldn’t quite place in her mind.
She stretched the doll closer to the child. “I’m sure it’ll be all right if you hold her awhile.”
The girl’s gaze darted over her shoulder then back again. Finally she reached out and took the doll.
At the same moment the boy took a step to his left, away from Bridget. She gave him an encouraging smile but didn’t make a move in his direction.
Shifting from one foot to another, he blinked at her with large, round eyes.
Bridget lowered to her knees and placed her hands flat on her thighs. “My name is Bridget.” She kept her voice soft, her tone gentle. “What’s yours?”
She directed the question at both children, but the little girl chose to answer.
“I’m Olivia.” She tugged on the doll’s dress with tentative fingers. “And that’s my brother, Caleb.”
“Well, Olivia and Caleb, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You talk funny,” Caleb said, scuffing his foot back and forth on the floor in a nervous gesture.
Bridget hid a smile at the bold statement. She loved the honesty in children, how they spoke the first thing that came into their minds. There was never any doubt as to what they meant, or how they felt.
She thought of Daniel, how he’d hurt her with his change of mind and mean accusations and…
This wasn’t the time to think on such things.
“Well, Caleb,” she began, still smiling, “I suppose I talk funny because I’m not from around here. I just arrived in America yesterday.”
“You did?”
“Oh, yes, I came over from Ireland.”
His little eyes rounded even more. “Where’s that?”
“All the way across the ocean.” She made a grand gesture with her arm, sweeping it in a wide arc. “I sailed on a large boat, a ship called the Annie McGee and I—”
The front door swept open with a bang, sufficiently cutting off the rest of her words.
“Caleb, Olivia.” A deep, masculine voice rang out from the front of the store. “Where are you?” There was a note of worry in the voice.
Both children’s faces brightened, but they made no move to run toward the man, as Bridget would have expected. Had they come to the store without permission?
That hardly seemed likely, given their timid natures.
Well, whatever the situation, Bridget would not leave them to face their fate alone.
Reaching out, she waited for one child then the other to place their hands in hers. Only then did she rise to her full height and turn the three of them toward the front of the store as a single unit.
After the briefest of hesitations, both Olivia and then Caleb leaned in against her legs. Their tiny weight brought such a sense of completion Bridget lost her ability to breathe for a brief moment.
She’d always loved children, but this—this feeling of rightness, of being in the perfect place at the ideal time was entirely new. And thrilling, as though she’d finally come home.
“Children!” The man’s hint of worry was now full of unmistakable fear.
Yet all Bridget could think was that she knew that voice, had heard it before.
A thousand thoughts collided together in her mind. And then, as if this meeting had been destined from the beginning of time, planned by the Lord Himself, Bridget’s mind grasped on to a single word swirling above the jumble in her head: him.
She could feel his approach, in the reverberation of his heels striking the wooden floor, each step filled with grave purpose.
He was heading her way.
But she couldn’t see him yet.
And, thankfully, he couldn’t see her. She needed a moment to prepare.
When the rich, masculine voice called for the children a third time, Bridget forced herself to reply. “Over here, on your right, by the toys.”
The footsteps quickened.
She breathed in deeply and tightened her hold on the children. They responded in kind.
Half a heartbeat passed. And then…
He came into view. The one person Bridget hadn’t been able to get out of her mind since arriving in America. William Black.
The moment his gaze connected with hers he came to a dead stop. Surprise registered in his eyes first. Then confusion. Followed by something she couldn’t begin to decipher.
For several more seconds he stared at her, unmoving, not speaking.
Bridget was stuck in a similar state of shock.
Before either had a chance to recover, Olivia yanked her hand free of Bridget’s and lunged forward, her doll raised in the air. “Papa, Papa. Look what I found.”
* * *
Olivia’s excited words barely registered in Will’s mind. He struggled to moderate his breathing and calm his thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t fully accept that he was staring into the mesmerizing eyes of Bridget Murphy.
She was here. In Faith Glen’s general store.
Holding his son’s hand.
Will’s stomach performed a slow, unexpected roll. Was that confusion spinning around in his gut? A sense of foreboding? Nervousness, perhaps?
“Papa. Papa.” Olivia tugged on his pant leg. “I’m talking to you.”
Will lowered his gaze. A tiny frown creased the soft skin between Olivia’s slim brows.
Sometimes, he thought with a burst of affection, his daughter could be such a serious little creature.
In an effort to calm his child’s worry, or whatever had put that look on her face, he smoothed his hand over her hair. “What have you found, my darling? Show me.”
“A dolly.” She thrust the toy higher, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “I couldn’t reach her at first. The nice lady helped me get her down from the shelf.”
The nice lady. Did his daughter mean Bridget? Bridget Murphy?
Will looked up again. This time he felt an actual impact when his eyes met Bridget’s. Under her soft gaze something unexpected awakened deep within him, as though a part of him had been half asleep, poised and waiting to come alive until this precise moment.
Bridget smiled. The feeling dug deeper.
“Hello, Will.”
He managed a short nod. “Bridget.” He could think of nothing more to say.
Needing a moment, he dropped his chin and gazed at his son. Will had never seen Caleb that at ease with a stranger. In fact, the boy was holding Bridget’s hand with unmistakable confidence, as though he’d been doing so all his life.
“I see you’ve met my children.” Will spoke past the lump in his throat.
“I have.” Her gaze went blank a moment and then understanding filled her expression. The look said she’d put several missing pieces of the puzzle together in her mind. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what, precisely?”
“Their eyes.” Her voice softened. “They have your eyes.”
How often had he heard that before? Too many times to count. But spoken in Bridget’s soft Irish lilt, the compliment seemed to take on new meaning.
Olivia tugged on his pant leg again. “I like her, Papa.”
He did, too. God help him, he liked her, too. Perhaps a bit too much. He’d been down this road before, to devastating results. Had he learned nothing from his mistakes?
Will swallowed back a wave of unease.
Unaware of his discomfort, Olivia skipped back to Bridget and took hold of her free hand.
A brief moment of silence passed. The three stood there, looking back at him with smiles on their faces. Bridget and his children looked comfortable together, happy, as if they were a family.
The sight nearly brought him to his knees.
There was no denying that Bridget Murphy, in her simple muslin dress and hair confined in a neat bun, looked the picture of a happy young mother spending the day with her children. An illusion, of course. A trick of the eye.
Again Will wondered why the woman was here in Faith Glen.
Perhaps her appearance on the scene, at this particular moment in time, was no accident, but a part of God’s plan for all of them.
Is she our answer, Lord?
There was an easy way to find out. But not in front of the children. “Caleb, Olivia, have you picked out your toys yet?”
Olivia studied the blond-haired doll in her hand, looked up at Bridget, then shook her head decidedly. “I don’t like this dolly anymore. I want one with brown hair—” she pointed up to Bridget “—like hers.”
Although surprised, Will couldn’t blame his daughter for her change in preference. Bridget had the loveliest head of hair he’d ever seen. He was sorry for the perfectly neat bun, sorrier than he should be. “Then go on and pick out a different one.”
Olivia skipped off.
Caleb, however, wasn’t budging from Bridget’s side. He had that stubborn look on his face, the one Will knew all too well. The boy was staying put.
Before Will could decide how best to pry his son loose, Miss Murphy provided a solution of her own. “Caleb, I think I would very much enjoy a miniature boat to remind me of my trip across the ocean. Would you go pick one out for me?”
It was all the encouragement the boy needed. He rushed toward the display of toys with a promise to find her the very best one in the store.
Will’s heart twisted in his chest. He hadn’t seen his son that enthusiastic in a long time, maybe never.
He turned back to Bridget. She watched the children with a soft smile playing on her lips. She was really quite beautiful when she smiled like that.
The thought put Will immediately on guard.
The woman could be hiding a selfish heart behind that pleasant look. Or she could be exactly what she seemed, a lovely Irish lass worthy of his trust.
He was desperate enough to hope for the latter.
“When we met yesterday,” he began, keeping his voice even, “I hadn’t realized your final destination was Faith Glen.”
She turned to look at him. “Nor I, you.”
“You are staying with relatives?” He didn’t recall any Murphys in town, but Bridget could have family living here under a different name, perhaps on her mother’s side.
“No.” She shook her head. “My sister and I are renting a room at Rose’s Boardinghouse.”
Although that didn’t explain why she was in Faith Glen, Will nodded his understanding. “I see.”
Her features suddenly shifted with concern and her cheeks turned a becoming pink. “Oh, you must think me terribly callous. I haven’t yet asked you, what did you find out about your fiancée?” She touched his arm, the gesture full of compassion. “Please, tell me I was wrong about Miss Collins and that she is here in Faith Glen with you now.”
As if hoping to find the woman in the store, she looked over his shoulder and scanned the immediate area behind him.
Will shoved back the despair that tried to rise within him. “Unfortunately the woman who died in the accident aboard ship was by all indications my intended.” He had her baggage in his possession to prove it.
“Oh, Will.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He believed her, believed the sadness in her tone and the sympathy in her touch. Something in him, some need he hadn’t known was there, wanted to rest inside all that gentle concern. If only for a moment.
He didn’t dare. This wasn’t about him. It had never been about him.
“Thank you for your condolences.” His voice sounded as stiff as he felt. He hadn’t met Bridget Collins. Her death was surreal to him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel sadness and guilt. Especially guilt.
Bridget must have sensed his shift in mood because her hand fell gently to her side. “Do your children know their new mother is de—” She cut herself off before finishing the word. “I mean, do they know Miss Collins is…gone?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I thought it best not to tell them anything about her until she arrived, in case something happened on the journey over.”
And something had happened, the worst possible something. Had Will not sent for Miss Collins, had he not insisted she come immediately, she might not have been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. She might still be alive today.
Forgive me, Lord, for putting the innocent woman in danger.
“Keeping your bride a secret until she arrived.” Bridget’s expression turned thoughtful. “That was rather wise of you.”
Wise? No. He’d merely been protecting his children from the possibility of another disappointment. “Olivia and Caleb have endured enough broken promises in their short lives. I won’t be responsible for adding another.”
He hadn’t meant to speak that plainly, regretted doing so the moment he noticed the change that came over Bridget. It was subtle, of course, and could mean anything, but she was no longer smiling.
“Would you say, then, that you are a man of your word?” She asked the question in an odd voice.
It was clear his answer mattered to her but he couldn’t fathom why. “Yes. A man’s word is his most valuable commodity in this life.”
“I agree.” Everything in her seemed to soften then, her eyes, her shoulders, even her smile. “What will you do now that you know the truth about your intended?”
He answered without hesitation. “Find another bride.”
“I see.”
She fell silent. As did Will. He could tell Bridget wasn’t finished, though, by the way she studied him with her brows pulled together in a thoughtful expression. When she did speak again she seemed to choose her words with care. “Perhaps you should consider hiring a nanny, at least until you are able to find another bride.”

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