Jennet’s mousy blonde hair was piled sensibly atop her head. Demur in color within the drafty confines of the household, it streaked with sudden golden highlights in direct sun. It neither was strewn with ribbons as Catriona's nor intricately braided as Finella's. Jennet was nothing if not a practical girl, not falling into the trappings and habits of most her age. Jack rubbed the top of his bald head and replaced the cap. That was part of the trouble. Jennet was unlike the many girls who had suitors slathering for their attention. She was practical to a fault.
And yet, she was so much like her mother, but in the raw. The one physical trait Jack had seen of himself in Jennet was the slight curve to her nose. Not nearly a hook, he thought it made her appear regal; but he knew her younger siblings told her she looked hawkish. She certainly did not get her hair, or lack thereof, he thought sadly, from him. Silently Jack wondered if his daughter regretted him for that nose being his only recognizable gift to her. He chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if she regretted him for many reasons.
Well, it at least includes something about hair, right?
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