Once upon a time, there was a lass named Grace Whitmore. Fortune had not smiled upon her in matters of marriage, and shed lingered in spinsterhood well into her thirties before resolving to find herself a man. At first, she hadnt known that the fellow shed taken a shine to, a man named Paul Thornton, was already wed. But soon enough, he made no secret of itespecially once he saw how dearly Grace had grown attached to him.
Yet Grace never once reproached Paul. Instead, she chastised herself for the affair and her own weakness. She felt flawed, as though her failure to secure a husband in her youth marked her as lesser. And though she was no great beauty, she was pleasant to look uponsoft-featured, with a gentle plumpness that perhaps added a touch of maturity.
The liaison with Paul led nowhere. Grace loathed the role of mistress, yet the thought of leaving him filled her with dreadwhat if she ended up alone forever?
One day, her cousin Simon dropped by unexpectedly. He was passing through London on business and seized the chance to visit. Over a simple meal in her kitchen, they chatted like children again, swapping news and confidences. Grace, with tears in her eyes, confessed the truth of her tangled heart.
Just then, her neighbour popped in, beckoning Grace to admire some new purchases. She slipped out for twenty minutesand in that time, the doorbell rang. Simon answered, expecting Grace, only to find a stranger on the threshold. One glance told him this was the married scoundrel Grace had spoken of. Paul, for his part, froze at the sight of a burly man in a vest and shorts, mid-bite into a sausage sandwich.
«Ermis Grace home?» Paul managed.
«Shes in the bath,» Simon lied smoothly.
«And you are?» Paul fumbled.
«Her husband. Common-law, for now.» Simon stepped closer, seizing Paul by the collar. «You wouldnt be that fancy married bloke shes been mooning around, would you? Listen sharpif I catch you here again, Ill toss you down the stairs. Understood?»
Paul needed no second warning. He fled.
When Grace returned, Simon relayed the encounter.
«What have you done?» she cried. «Hell never come back now!» She sank onto the sofa, face buried in her hands.
«Good riddance,» Simon scoffed. «Enough of this moping. Ive a proper man in mind for youa widower back in our village. Women flock to him, but hes kept to himself since his wife passed. When I return from my trip, youll come with me. Ill introduce you.»
Grace balked. «I cant justwhat will people think?»
«Less shame in meeting a free man than bedding a bound one,» Simon retorted. «Besides, its my Lucys birthday. Youll come.»
Days later, they arrived in the village. Simons wife, Lucy, had laid a feast in the garden. Neighbours and friends gathered, among them the widower, Alfred Dawson. Grace noted how quiet he was, how gentle. «Still grieving, poor soul,» she thought. «A rare, tender heart.»
A week later, a knock startled her. On her doorstep stood Alfred, clutching a parcel.
«Forgive the intrusion,» he said, shifting awkwardly. «I was in town for market and thought well, since were acquainted now»
Grace invited him in, masking her surprise with tea and small talk. As he prepared to leave, he hesitated at the door, then turned abruptly.
«If I go without saying it, Ill regret it,» he blurted. «Grace, Ive thought of nothing but you all week. Swear it. I had to see you.»
She flushed, eyes downcast. «We barely know each other»
«That dont matter. Just tell me Im not repulsive to you. Andmay I speak plain? Ive a little girl, eight years old. Shes with her gran just now.» His hands trembled.
«A daughter!» Graces face softened. «Ive always wished for one.»
Encouraged, Alfred took her hands, drew her close, and kissed her. When he pulled back, her eyes glistened.
«Was that unwelcome?» he asked.
«No,» she whispered. «It was sweet. And right. No stolen moments, no guilt.»
They met every weekend thereafter. Within two months, they wed. Grace found work at the village nursery, and within a year, she bore a daughter. Two girls now filled their homeboth cherished, both adored. Love multiplied, never divided. And with each passing year, Grace and Alfred seemed to grow younger, their bond deepening like fine aged wine.
At family gatherings, Simon would wink at Grace over the table.
«Well, Gracie? Didnt I pick you a proper husband? Youre blooming like a rose. Trust your cousinId never steer you wrong. Grace would smile, her hand instinctively reaching for Alfreds beneath the table. You did indeed, Simon, shed say, though I think perhaps it was less your doing and more my luck finally turning. And as her daughter laughed in the garden, chasing fireflies with Alfreds little girl, Grace knew that what had once felt like a life half-lived was now full to the brimsimple, honest, and true.
