The Restless Viscountess

Chapter 1

“When you judge others, you do not define them, you define yourself.” Earl Nightingale

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Chapter One

September, 1850

Imogen Wilde moved her queen across her father’s fine, marble chess board. The queen, standing diagonally from her rook, had just won Imogen her third chess match that afternoon.

“Check mate again, Papa,” Imogen said tiredly as she tipped her father’s king over.

“You are getting too good for me, Imogen,” commended Emmett with a proud smile as he went to set the board up again.

Imogen’s eyes narrowed. Emmett had sacrificed his queen three minutes into their game and had allowed both his rooks to be captured shortly after.

Imogen was the only one of Emmett’s three children who had the patience to learn and master the game of chess. Though she was not as skilled as her father made her out to be. “You let me win,” Imogen said accusingly. “You always let me win.”

“I do not,” retorted Emmett.

“Papa, chess is your greatest talent and you boast that no one could ever defeat you, yet I do every time. You let me,” Imogen replied tiredly. “You would never let Davy or Allie win,” she added quietly. Their father’s sheer determination to win at chess was why David and Alexandra did not play chess against Emmett. Occasionally, of a quiet evening, they would play against Imogen or their mother, Bess, but never against their father.

Emmett finished assembling the board and sighed. “Imogen, you are my special girl.”

‘Special’ was a word that she heard very often from her family. Lady Imogen Wilde had not been breathing when she was born. The latter of a set of twins, Imogen’s journey into the world was traumatic. The complications of her birth had left her physically weak in strength and incredibly small in stature. She stood a mere four feet and eight inches in height and weighed less than eighty pounds.

Imogen could not manage a flight of stairs on her own, nor could she cross a room without leaning on a loved one. She barely had the energy to lift chess pieces without needing to lie down.

“I am not special, Papa,” Imogen murmured as she moved her pawn forward to begin the next match, “only weak.”

“I shall tell you something that my father taught me about weakness,” Emmett offered.

From the stories that her paternal grandmother, Marie, had told about her previous husband, Imogen’s grandfather was not a kindly man.

Emmett looked at his youngest daughter sympathetically. “My father always told me that pain was weakness and weaknesses should never be revealed. Weaknesses are how others exploit us. In my eyes, weaknesses are indeed vices. For example an excessive love of the drink or a gluttonous desire for sweets. A weakness is not something that is bestowed upon you at birth. You are weak physically, yes, but your mind is among the sharpest I know. Look not at what you cannot do, and instead focus on what you can. Now, you insist on a true chess match? Let us play.”

In twelve moves, Emmett had annihilated Imogen and had taken victory. Imogen had been more satisfied with the loss then she had with her multiple victories. “Thank you, Papa,” she said gratefully.

Emmett chuckled as he collected the chess pieces ready to put them away.

Imogen held the edge of the table and pushed up, using what little arm strength she had, to bring herself to her feet. She took several deep breaths, ready to make her way over to the settee to sit with her mother, sister, and sister-in-law.