Hettie sat herself by it and draped her hair over her shoulder to do her best to dry it. The room was pleasant and reminded her a little of home. A slanted roof and small cottage window added a cosy feel to it and the linens were a floral print, similar to that favoured by her mother. As she dried her hair, she spotted some flecks of mud she’d missed when washing and couldn’t help smiling. It had been ridiculous, being caught up in the mud and practically juggled by Jasper. She should have been embarrassed—she was a little, in truth—but the absurdity of it all had overtaken her and she couldn’t help but laugh. Then he had laughed too and looked at her in a way that even now made her stomach tighten. He was probably right. Hettie reached over for her comb and ran it through her tangled hair, wincing as she did so. She didn’t smile or laugh enough. It had felt so good to laugh. Dealing with the orphans and her busy life in the village which often included nursing sick people and running errands and generally having no time to find something to laugh about, had left her tightly wound and unable to find amusement in things.
