Читать книгу Mistaken Bride - Renee Ryan - Страница 12

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.