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He returned to his chair and heaved a sigh.

Now, what to do about Kitty and Lydia? His eyes drifted around the room until they alighted on a chessboard given to him by Mr. Gardiner as a wedding present long ago.

For the day-to-day matches that he played with Lizzy or against himself, he preferred the older, plainer chessboard that had belonged to his grandfather with its worn pieces and polished wood.

Mr. Gardiner’s set had come from the Orient.

The pieces were individually painted in a rainbow of bright enamels, each with such detail that one could see the long, lacquered fingernails on the Queen’s hands and individual feathers in the plumes on the Knight’s helmet.

Thomas had always kept them in a locked box on a high shelf, protected from little fingers that might break the fragile figurines.

Now, however, he considered that they might be just the thing to capture a young lady’s attention and so he eased the box off the shelf and spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the pieces.

That evening after dinner, Mr. Bennet brought the chess set into the drawing room to many “ooohs” and aaaahs.

” Lydia had been sent to her room halfway through dinner so the family gathering was already significantly calmer than usual.

Mary’s attention soon returned to her new books but Catherine was quite entranced by the exquisitely painted enamel figurines.

In short order, Mr. Bennet was showing Kitty how to set up the board and the remainder of the evening was spent teaching her about the moves each piece was allowed to make. Elizabeth retreated to the corner with Jane, allowing Kitty the pleasure of their father’s uninterrupted attention .

Later that evening, after his family had retired, Thomas poured himself a glass of claret (he had sworn off brandy for the moment) and sat alone in his book room, well-pleased with himself.

He had no illusions that Catherine would grow into any sort of chess prodigy—she was not nearly as quick as Lizzy had been to pick up the rules and strategies.

However, his second youngest had shown an honest interest that he was glad to encourage.

In truth, he was willing to latch on to anything that would exercise her mind.

It was not for several days that Thomas unearthed his second youngest’s real passion.

After a windy ride around Longbourn’s fields, Mr. Bennet unexpectedly came across Kitty standing in the front hall with her nose nearly touching a framed painting.

The Bennets had never been great art collectors, but Thomas had always enjoyed this particular painting of a girl in a white dress, running through a field of wildflowers with her hair blown loose and bonnet trailing behind her.

Catherine was so focused on the brushwork of the painting that she positively jumped when her father spoke. “Lovely, isn’t it?” Seeing his daughter flush, Thomas realized that he had surprised her. “Forgive me for startling you, my child. I did not intend to interrupt your study.”

Kitty smiled apologetically. Her father had paid her more attention in the last few days than he had for years previously and she did not wholly trust his kinder, gentler manner. “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to hurt it.”

“Looking at it will do no harm; that is what it is there for. If you wish to examine it more closely, we can even take it down from the wall and bring it where there’s better light.” He paused but continued when his daughter remained silent. “What about it intrigues you so?”

Kitty looked at her father carefully and decided that he was truly interested.

She turned back to the painting and gestured with a finger.

“I was out watching the wind blow across the hay field this morning—the grass stems roll, almost like waves on water? I think it’s the undersides of the leaves showing that also changes the color as they bend in the wind.

I was trying to see how the painter captured the wind so perfectly, do you see?

There’s a blue sky and a few puffy white clouds, but the moment you look at the painting you know there is a big, breezy wind blowing right across the meadow. ”

Kitty recalled herself and peeked at her father out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure that sounds silly…” she began.

“Absolutely not!” reassured her father, placing his hand on her shoulder and looking at the painting more closely than he ever had before.

“I’d never noticed it but you are quite correct.

And I believe you are right about the colors—the bent stems are just a bit lighter than those upright, unbent by the wind—a hint of pink, perhaps.

And I suppose that adds to the story it tells—why the girl’s hair has blown loose and her bonnet won’t stay on. ”

Father and daughter stood in silence for a few more minutes studying the painting until Mr. Bennet stirred himself. “Catherine, have you ever tried drawing yourself?”

Kitty looked flustered. “A little, but Mama got angry with me for ruining so much paper…”

Her father nodded, clearly pleased. “What you need is your own sketch book and perhaps a set of charcoals or watercolors. I can’t claim to have any talent myself beyond some basic drafting skills but I do have a book or two on drawing in my library.

Basic figures, perspective, composition and such.

Come along and I’ll see if I can’t find them.

Then this afternoon we shall go on an expedition and see if there are any art supplies to be found in Meryton.

I suspect that Culter’s should have something, but if not I shall write to your Uncle Gardiner and he can send them from London. ”

Pleased but still rather amazed by his behavior, Kitty quietly followed her father into his study.

When he began climbing a ladder in order to poke around the contents of a high shelf in the corner, disturbing clouds of dust in the process, she couldn’t repress a giggle.

“Is your answer for everything in a book, Papa?”