Five years later

"Sweet dreams, little one."

Mary gently stroked the vivid red tufts of curls atop the child's head, peering fondly down into the cradle at the pair of crystal clear blue eyes peering up at her, innocent and full of wonder. They blinked upon hearing a rustle from across the nursery - a slight snuffle and sigh from his elder sister's bed as she turned over in her sleep. She could not even remain still in slumber; much like Mary herself had been at that age.

In this very room were two of the three people she held dearest in all the world - and, turning away from the cradle, she realised with a smile that the third had appeared in the doorway.

"Ought you not to be downstairs?" she asked, wondering how long he had been watching her.

"I wished to enter the room with my wife beside me," he replied, with that charming smile which could not fail to make her feel rather weak at the knees.

"Oh," realised Mary, with a blush. "Well, the children are now both settled - shall we venture down?"

"May I have the honour of escorting you into the ballroom, milady?"

Mary felt her cheeks colour as she smiled bashfully.

"The honour would be all mine," she replied.

Arm in arm, husband and wife left their sleeping children, making their way down to their elegant ballroom. Catching sight of herself in an entrance hall mirror, Mary grinned as she caught sight of her reflection, marvelling at the way her violet gown rustled as she was swept across the room by her finely-dressed husband.

They paused on the threshold of the grand room. Mary, peering eagerly in at mass of silk and muslin gowns swishing about the ballroom, wished to enter immediately - but propriety dictated they should wait until announced.

"Sir Edmund and Lady Wills," came the cry from the announcer positioned in the doorway.

As heir to Alverton Hall, Sir Edmund hardly required an introduction - yet at the sound of the clear voice ringing out across the room, the heads of their guests turned as one to behold the baronet and his wife's descent into the ballroom. Blushing slightly at the many pairs of eyes upon her, Mary thankfully managed to keep her footing - partly thanks to Edmund's firm, unwavering grip on her forearm as he steered her down the stairs.

With the arrival of the baronet and his wife, the ball could now properly begin - and within moments, the musicians had struck up a first chord to assemble the guests for the first dance.

To her relief, Mary was not expected to dance - it was not often a pastime married couples engaged in - and so she took to a seat on the edge of the dancefloor more than willingly, perfectly content to watch their youthful, unattached guests dance and flirt together.

Mary had expected Edmund to go and greet his guests - but to her delight, he seemed reluctant to leave her side.

"It pleases me to see you smile, my dear," he told her quietly, taking the seat beside her.

"Well, I have every reason to be merry," smiled Mary in return.

And so she did.

The past five years had been something of a dream. From her humble beginnings as a lady's maid, Mary had transitioned into the life of a baronet's wife remarkably well - far better than anyone expected. She had learnt how to navigate social circles with more mastery than she had during her brief stint as Miss M. Thorpe, whilst never once losing her ebullient nature or feeling the need to shrink to fit society's narrow confines.

A pivotal moment for Mary had been the birth of Amelia, her first child. Now aged four, Amelia and baby Robert, approaching seventeen months, were the light of Mary's life. Mary had taken to motherhood as if she had been born for the very task; ensuring the children were kept merry and entertained, whilst dealing with any tantrums or naughtiness in a no-nonsense manner. With motherhood, too, her confidence had grown, allowing her to finally settle into her place in society.

The highlight of the social calendar was this very evening: the annual Alverton Hall Christmas ball. Since Helena and Joseph's departure for America, it had been Margaret's responsibility to organise it, and she had risen to the occasion accordingly. A plethora of decorations adorned every spare inch of the ballroom, which Helena herself would have been proud of - it was just a shame that Helena herself could not be there to enjoy the spectacle.

"It does not seem the same without Helena and Joseph," murmured Mary, giving her husband's hand a forlorn squeeze. "They were supposed to be here - Helena wrote that they expected to be home at the very beginning of December!"

"Such journeys across the Atlantic often take longer than expected; especially at this time of year," replied Sir Edmund gently.

"You are right, of course - I am likely being foolish," replied Mary, shaking her head.

Just then, Mary found her train of thought interrupted by the sound of a child's wailing. It began softly at first, but grew in volume and intensity until it distracted Mary from her thoughts entirely.

"Our baby!" cried Mary, staggering to her feet. Some maternal instinct deep within set her mind ablaze with panic. Her child was in need; she must make haste!

"Mary!" called Edmund, as she attempted to hurry away. "Mary, it is not him - how can it be? We would not hear him from up in the nursery, and besides, his nurse is with him!"

"No, Edmund - I simply know it is him!" Mary told him fretfully, although by now she was beginning to feel rather confused.

She had been certain it was Robert's cries she heard. But Edmund was right - Robert was asleep in the nursery three floors above. Hearing his cries all the way down in the crowded, noisy ballroom would be simply impossible!

If not Robert, then who?

Without a moment's hesitation Mary rose to her feet, sweeping across the ballroom with far more grace than she had during her first Christmas ball in this very room. One or two ladies of her acquaintance attempted to capture her attention on the way past, but Mary made it clear she had no desire to be engaged in conversation at present. They would likely whisper behind her back about such a rude display, but Mary, by now very used to the tattling of society, gave it no mind.

Upon emerging at last into the entrance hall, Mary came to a halt, certain her eyes deceived her.

Her ears had not been deceiving her. There was indeed an infant in the hallway, its cries reaching far greater volumes than Mary could have expected for one with such small lungs. Whether boy or girl, as of yet she knew not - but as Mary gazed up from the pink-faced babe swaddled in cloth to beam at the proud and exhausted mother, she knew instantly that she was going to adore this child almost as if it were her own.

"Helena!" she cried, tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

Face to face with her dear friend at long last, it felt to Mary as if it had been five minutes since she and Edmund stood at the dockside in Liverpool as they bade Helena and Joseph farewell. Helena carried herself with as much grace and elegance as she ever had, though she appeared in desperate need of a rest.

Almost skipping across the hall in her eagerness, Mary eyed the bundle in her friend's arm with wonder.

"Her name is Maria," announced Helena proudly, her own eyes full of moisture. "She is named for my dearest friend."

"Oh, Helena," breathed Mary bashfully, hardly knowing what to say.

"We had intended it to be a surprise!" confessed Helena. "It was our hope to return in time so that I might pass my period of confinement here at Alverton Hall; but alas, our journey was a treacherous and lengthy one indeed, and so Maria began her life aboard a ship midway across the Atlantic!"

"Goodness!" gasped Mary. "What a fine tale that shall make!"

"We may say so now, having been assured by a doctor in Liverpool that she is healthy," said Joseph, "but I am sure you can imagine, Mary, what distressing circumstances they were!"

"Oh, indeed!" agreed Mary. "You must both be so terribly fatigued - come, let us arrange for Maria to be settled in the nursery. Oh, I almost wish that I could quit the ball entirely! I have no desire to watch others dance and flirt; I had much rather hear all your tales!"

"I feel much the same," admitted Helena, "although I feel it rather a convenient setting to announce our return this evening, so that all of our acquaintance may be informed at once. And I do so adore the festive ball - Margaret has quite outdone herself, has she not?"

"Indeed, she has," replied Mary proudly. "She has risen to the task accordingly these past years - though the first year following your departure for America, I do confess that she was most anxious to put on a spectacle equal to your own."

"I long to see her, and of course my dear Papa. Come; let us settle Maria for the night. Once she is sound asleep my mind will be at rest, so that I may be more able to enjoy the evening."

***

The sudden return of Lady Helena and her husband from America was met with much interest and enthusiasm from the guests - in particular once the tale of Maria's rather unconventional birth was relayed. Helena and Joseph were positively swamped by well-wishers, each gushing over the apparently American cut of Helena's gown (which to Mary's eyes looked no different to any of her own), and the 'decided hint of Americanism' to the couple's voice and manners.

Having never met an American, Mary could not attest to this - but she had noticed another difference in Helena's speech and mannerisms. When she laughed at something one lady or other had said, it was a hearty sound, rather than the practised tinkle it once had been. Her manner, too, was rather more open and direct than it once had been - and Mary thought it became her very well.

"Goodness, Lady Merton was akin to a clucking hen - I feared she may never release me from her clutches!"

It was well past midnight, and Helena and Mary found themselves sitting contentedly to one side of the ballroom, having finally been allowed some peace to converse thanks the rush amongst the unattached young people to secure partners for the final few dances.

"It seems she has forgotten her promise never to attend a function at Alverton Hall again," continued Helena.

Mary started, the painful memory of Lady Merton toppling to the floor of this very ballroom returning at once to her mind.

"I had quite forgotten!" she gasped, mortified. "Oh, dear - how you must have despised me!"

"I am honest enough to own that I did not like you very well at the very beginning," admitted Helena frankly. "The incident with Lady Merton was, I think, the most trying - you can well imagine how wretched I felt, believing my social ties to have been severed entirely within the course of a single evening!"

A more sensitive soul than Mary may have despaired to hear that Helena had not liked her at first - but Helena's willingness to speak the truth was one of the qualities she admired the most in her friend.

"Such agony I felt, at the thought of my neighbours no longer wishing to be acquainted with me - yet it appears to have been in vain, for look how they flocked to my side this evening!"

"They are fickle creatures," said Mary sagely. "Their opinions are prone to change with the wind; it is why we would do better not to pay them too much heed."

"You are quite right, of course," agreed Helena, "and I shall be forever grateful to you, dearest Mary, for assisting me in coming to this conclusion - for, had I never met you, I should never have become Mrs Godwin."

Mary considered this for a moment, watching the nearest set of young people meticulously perform the steps of the quadrille.

"I do not agree," she said eventually, turning to face her dear friend. "I truly believe that you would have found the courage to follow your heart alone."

Helena looked as if she were about to protest, so Mary continued.

"Although at first we appeared worlds apart, I do believe we are quite similar - and that is how I know that you would not have forced yourself into a marriage to that odious Lord Carningsby, for it was not your will to do so."

"It feels peculiar to hear you speak of my will," murmured Helena. "Until recently, I did not feel we as ladies had such thing as our own will."

"Yet how we have proved that notion wrong!" smiled Mary.

"Indeed! We are both married to men of our own choosing, which once seemed an impossible feat to me!"

"It is possible," declared Mary, "for we have made it so. And we shall raise our daughters with the same beliefs, so that when their time comes to step out into the world, they shall not view it as an impossibility."

"Yes," said Helena thoughtfully, eyes wandering about the ballroom as she beheld the lines of helpless young ladies, desperately attempting to capture the attention of any 'eligible' gentleman of their parents' choosing. "I like that idea very much."

It took time to change opinions; it took great work to alter the age-old conventions of society. But with the input of unique people such as one Mary Preston, and no small amount of determination, change would come about in the end.

Helena and Mary had taken the first step, in choosing to marry for love rather than gain. They were now to be tasked with passing down the all-important message to their offspring: that, despite what society and history would try to tell them, a lady's fate is her own to decide.

THE END

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A/N: Ahhhh, guys - I cannot even tell you how bittersweet it feels to have reached the end of A Lady's Fate! I'm so happy that I have now written first drafts of two complete novels, but at the same time it will be so hard letting this story go!

Thank you a million times for your support throughout this journey. Each and every one of you who has read, voted, commented and supported is amazing, and I feel so lucky to be part of the incredible Wattpad community <3

So, what now? In the near future, I'm off on holiday (yay!), and when I return I will start having a think about what I'd like to write next. I don't have any concrete ideas at the moment, but once I do, you guys will be the first to know :)

Love,

Ffion x