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Summary
"Now," the boy (Colin, Colin, Colin) says, as he eases himself to his feet languorously, so he looms and teeters upon the wall. Penelope's breath catches in her throat — she stares up at him in frozen terror as he reaches a long arm out to snatch the top of the cherry tree, his body bowing elegantly into the nothingness of open air. One wrong move and he will tumble, she is sure of it. "Penelope with the Greek name and lovely face and hair like fire," (Penelope wonders if she might die from blushing), "if I throw you down some of the sweetest cherries from the top of the tree," (he begins to pluck and twist the green stems, the branches shaking precariously), "the ones the sun has kissed to perfect ripeness, the kind of cherries you have never tasted before in your life," (he pops one in his mouth and gives the rest of his speech pouted around it), "even as the daughter of a duke who always tastes the very best of everything — well, do you think you might favour me with a smile?"
Oh, she thinks (for even at fourteen she is decisive; knows her mind well). I am in love.
On the day she finds out she is to be married, Penelope falls in love
Renaissance Era AU