"I don't despite you, Laurie," she admits - her heart, soul, and body crushed in his embrace - when he travels from London just to come see her. Even now, in her darkest hour, he remains her rock. "Beth was the best of us."

Her face contorts, her heart aches. She's relieved that he absorbs it all.

"I'm not marrying Fred," she states when she finally turns away, because some things just have to be said.

"I heard about that," he answers quietly.

She nods. "And you are under no obligation to say anything, or do anything."

She shakes her head and breathes deep.

"I just didn't love him as I should - so we don't need to talk about it, we don't have to say anything - "

He kisses her then, all tenderness and sorrow. And this time, she doesn't push him away.

She knows she loves him. She's known it for forever.

But this time, just the way he speaks her name and the way he holds her close gives her a glimpse of a hope that he just may love her too.

"Amy," he whispers when they part after their kiss.

She meets his eyes, their faces inches apart. It's the first time she's allowed herself to be this close to him - and the intoxication is different from anything she'd ever allowed her young mind to imagine.

It's deeper, truer.

It's as if they parted at the park as boy and girl and now meet each other as man and woman.

The valley of the shadow of death can do that to people, sometimes.

"Thank you for coming," she says, lamely. She - she of the thousand opinions, she of the outspoken thoughts - is falling back on clichés.

"I had to," he says. He kisses her brow. "I can't possibly let you do this alone."

She rolls her lips before releasing them. "And why is that?"

The question hangs between them like a weighted pendulum. It swings between the frivolous and the permanent, the superficial and the profound.

"Because I love you," he says, without a hint of irony. "I love your fire and your courage. I love your determination and your strength. I love that you refuse to let me waste my life because you see so much more to it than I do - and I wish you could be part of it too."

Tears escape her. She blinks back at the man who's owned her heart since the very first day he'd entered her life.

"Marry me?" he whispers - like a plea, like a prayer, like a hope.

"I suppose I could." She smiles, before he kisses her again.

Aunt March takes the news with grim resignation and a knowing look. The vicar glares at them when they alternate soft, knowing looks during the simple ceremony. She wears black on her wedding day, though her heart is painted a dozen shades of newfound joy.

They both agree that Beth would approve.

"Thank you, my lord," she speaks to him fondly when he helps her onto the deck of their ship. The warmth of his hand reminds her of the myriad other types of warmth they've shared since that first kiss.

He presses his lips against her brow, his hands around her waist. "You are most welcome, milady."