Grace had been a mistress. Marriage had eluded her, leaving her unwed until thirty, when she finally resolved to find a man.
At first, she didn’t know Paul was married, but soon enough, he stopped hiding it once he realised she had grown attached. Yet Grace never reproached him—only blamed herself for the affair and her own weakness. She felt flawed, as though time had slipped through her fingers, leaving her without a husband. Not that she was lacking—she wasn’t a beauty, but pleasant-looking, slightly plump, which perhaps made her seem older. The relationship was going nowhere. She didn’t want to remain a mistress, but neither could she leave him. The fear of being alone held her captive.
One day, her cousin Stephen dropped by unexpectedly, passing through London on business. He stayed a few hours—long enough for lunch in the kitchen, chatting about life as they had in childhood. Grace, tearful, confided in him about Paul.
Just then, her neighbour called her over to admire some new purchases. Grace stepped out for twenty minutes. In her absence, the doorbell rang. Stephen answered, expecting her return—the door had been left unlocked. On the doorstep stood Paul. Instantly, Stephen knew who he was. Paul faltered at the sight of a burly man in joggers and a vest, chewing a ham sandwich.
“Grace in?” was all Paul managed.
“She’s in the bath,” Stephen shot back smoothly.
“Sorry, but who are you?” Paul stammered.
“Her husband. Common-law. For now.” Stephen stepped closer, seizing Paul’s collar. “You’d be that married bloke she told me about, eh? Listen here. Show your face again, and I’ll toss you down the stairs. Got it?”
Paul wrenched free and bolted.
When Grace returned, Stephen recounted the visit.
“What have you done? Who asked you to interfere?” she wept, sinking onto the sofa, face in her hands.
“He won’t be back—good riddance. Enough snivelling. I’ve got a proper man for you—a widower back home in Somerset. The women won’t leave him alone, but he’s turned them all down. Comes by when I’m back from this trip. Be ready. We’ll go together.”
“What? No, Stephen, I can’t. Some stranger? It’s embarrassing.”
“More embarrassing than bedding a married man? No one’s forcing you into his bed. Come along—it’s Lucy’s birthday.”
Days later, Grace and Stephen arrived in the village. Lucy, his wife, had laid out a spread in the garden by the shed. Neighbours, friends, and Stephen’s mate—the widower Alfred—gathered. Grace knew the others but had never met Alfie.
After a warm evening, Grace returned to London, musing on how quiet and gentle Alfred had been. Probably still grieving. Poor man. So few like him left.
A week later, the doorbell rang on a Sunday. Grace wasn’t expecting anyone. She opened it to find Alfred on the step, clutching a bag.
“Grace, I was passing through. Had some shopping. Thought I’d drop by,” he mumbled, rehearsed.
She invited him in, baffled but brewing tea, sensing this wasn’t chance.
“Get everything you needed?” she asked.
“Aye, it’s in the car. These are for you.” He pulled a small bouquet of daffodils from the bag.
Her eyes brightened as she took them. Over tea, they chatted about the weather and market prices. Finally, cup drained, Alfred thanked her and rose to leave. In the hallway, he dawdled with his jacket and shoes. Then, at the threshold, he turned suddenly.
“If I leave without saying this, I’ll regret it. Grace, I’ve thought of you all week. Swear it. Couldn’t wait for the weekend. Got your address from Stephen…”
Grace flushed, gaze dropping.
“We hardly know each other…”
“That don’t matter. Am I repulsive to you? Can we drop the ‘you’? I’m no prize, mind. Got a little girl—eight. She’s with her gran now.” His hands trembled slightly.
“A daughter—that’s lovely. I always wanted one,” Grace murmured dreamily.
Encouraged, Alfred took her hands, drew her close, and kissed her. When he pulled back, tears glittered in her eyes.
“Did I upset you?”
“No… the opposite. Didn’t expect to feel… so sweet, so safe. Not stealing from anyone…”
They met every weekend after. Two months later, Grace and Alfred wed, settling in the village. She found work at the nursery. Within a year, she bore a daughter. The two girls grew up loved, cherished equally. Grace and Alfred only grew younger with happiness, their love deepening like aged whisky.
At gatherings, Stephen often winked at Grace.
“What’d I tell you, eh? Good catch, wasn’t he? You’re glowing. Trust your brother next time.”
