Yankee Wife Read Free Page A

attraction to him, but she imagined she could adjust to being his wife. That would certainly be preferable to some of her other options, like starving to death or taking up the lewd profession.
    Mr. Quade reached for the silver pot, refilled Lydia's coffee cup with as much elegant deference as if she were a duchess instead of a homeless wretch with two tarnished coins in her pocket. “Would you like to come to Quade's Harbor with me, Lydia?” he asked. “We'd be sailing in three days, and I would, of course, put you up here at the hotel in the interim. I would give you an advance on your allowance, as well, since you'll probably need a few things.”
    Lydia just sat there, gaping. This proposal had been unlike any she'd read about or heard of, but it wasn't without appeal. She could eat, sleep in a safe, warm, clean place, even buy herself “a few things.” She didn't think beyond that; she was too dazed by the sudden turn her fortunes had taken.
    â€œYes,” she said, bold in her desperation. “Yes, Mr. Quade, I would like that very much.”
    â€œVery well,” he replied, with another of his boyish, endearing smiles, taking a wallet from the inside pocket of his coat. He removed a few bills and passed them to Lydia. “You'll need clothes for a rainy climate,” he said. “I'll make arrangements at the desk for a room to be prepared, and you can spend the day as you like. Just have your meals and anything else you want billed to me.” With that, Mr. Quade pushed back his chair, stood, and after a polite nod, walked away.
    Lydia briefly considered ordering another breakfast, remembered the money lying on the table, and gathered it up.
    Surely it was improper to accept funds from a man, not to mention a hotel room and food, but Mr. Quade had not made any unseemly demands. He clearly did not expect her to take up residence in his chambers, and he had been the soul of good manners from the very inception of their acquaintance.
    Lydia folded the bills carefully and tucked them into her skirt pocket. Then, barely able to contain the sudden surge of energy that possessed her, she finished her coffee, rose, and left the dining room with sweeping dignity.
    At the desk the clerk was deferential. Yes, quarters had been reserved for a Miss Lydia McQuire. He handed her a key and told her that Room 10 would be ready in half an hour.
    â€œThank you,” Lydia said. It wasn't until she reached the sidewalk out front that she gave a cry of glee and did a little jig. The doorman looked at her suspiciously but offered no comment.
    For a long moment she couldn't decide which way to go. She could simply disappear, after all—Mr. Quade had given her enough money to last for weeks, if she lived frugally—or she could have an adventure. It was an enormous risk, of course, traveling to Washington Territory with a stranger, becoming his bride, no less, but Lydia believed in bold undertakings. That was why she'd assisted her father in those dreadful field hospitals during the war, and it was the reason she had come to San Francisco with Mrs. Hallingsworth, seeking a new start in life.
    Lydia headed toward the two-story mercantile on the next corner, and there was a little spring in her step now because she'd eaten and she had money and she had a future, uncertain and dangerous though it might be. Furthermore, for the first time in a month, she didn't have to worry about finding a place to sleep or having enough food to sustain her.
    There would undoubtedly be challenges, but she would handle those one at a time, as they presented themselves. There was no sense, as her father had often told her, in letting one's mind get ahead into next week, next month, or next year. Better to plant oneself firmly in the moment and make the best of whatever mightH be offered.
    Lydia bought several sensible dresses at the mercantile, along with a hooded cloak for the rainy climate Mr. Quade had mentioned