Written any good books lately? Smashwords.com

Excerpt for Creatures of Sensation: A teaser for the novel by cordelia Clark, available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Creatures of Sensation:A teaser for the novel

By Cordelia Clark

Smashwords edition

Published by Cordelia Clark on Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

“I have a profound conviction that women are rendered weak and wretched, especially by a false system of education, gathered from books written by men who have been more anxious to make of women alluring mistresses than rational wives. The divine right of husbands, like the divine right of kings, may, it is to be hoped, in this enlightened age, be contested without danger. Men, in their youth, are prepared for professions, but women can only look to marriage to sharpen their faculties. Yet novels, music, poetry, and gallantry all tend to make women creatures of sensation.” –Mary Wollstonecraft, Vindication of the Rights of Women.

Dedication

For Father Hyatt, with affection, for whom this work was written.

“If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is the memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in its powers..we are to be sure, a miracle everyway.” Jane Austen, Mansfield Park.

You are my miracle, everyway.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone, living and dead, who had some sort of collaboration on this novel. B. Williams, my editor and technical help, you are lovingly thanked as you play multiple roles as soul mate and companion. My grandmother, who first taught me how to write and read me everything imaginable. Special thanks for reading me Tennyson. My grandfather, who even in his twilight, encourages me to write. Chad Hyatt, for requesting this work and being ever patient as I worked on it. For Cetra, because you always believed in me. Barbara Kirkland and Maggie Reese, for always loving me and always being there. Audrey, for getting me out of the laundry basket when I was four. David, for always wanting to read my work. Amy Nelson, because you never grow tired of manuscripts. Jeanine Mason, because you’ll read my work at midnight. Dr. Tamara Weiss, for never putting me away. Jane Austen, yes my dear Jane{ I do believe I was born in the wrong era. Long live walking alone and being improper. Tennyson, you’ve gotten me out of so much writer’s frustration. Mary Nell Hardin, for lending me your books and having wonderful enthusiasm. Juliet Stephens, for your eagerness to read it. Father Shyre, for being there for my grandfather. In being there for him, you were there for me. Most especially I must thank all this glorious mountain air. No one can have writer’s block in the mountains.

About the Author

Cordelia has always been a writer, although circumstances have not always permitted it to be her profession. She lives in the United States with her partner and a cat named Ginger. She loves hearing from her readers. If you would like to contact Cordelia you may email her at inkblotsbycordelia@gmail.com.

“I pay very little regard…to what any young person says on the subject of marriage. If they profess disinclination for it, I can only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.”

--Jane Austen, Mansfield Park.

The sky was a hemlock grey and the pussy willows whispered in the wind. Her soul was an island of darkness surrounded by dark water with no light for harbor. Lilia Banbury sat in the field next to the pussy willows as they spoke their own language when the wind blew. The sun was setting low like orange marmalade spread across toast at afternoon tea. Her pastel empire waist dress was muddy to match her boots from walking. Her greatest fear was that Moriah Hewitt would come upon her on the way to her house with footman and running servants in her carriage and exclaim to Lilia how improper it was for an unmarried woman to walk alone. Although she trumped Moriah in age, as Moriah was just now coming out into society and still had to use her mother’s cards, her cousin was an element of consistent irritation, with her obsession with manners (being that she has only just learnt them.) Lilia was well beyond the age of using her mother’s cards. This spring, she had come to the age in which she owned her own property and could dispose of it as she pleased without her father’s consent. Lilia was fully against marriage, having seen its ruin and held it in contempt and disgust.

Lilia turned to the sound of hoof beats. She could see a carriage coming up over the hill. She needn’t bother to wonder who it was. Her fear had come true. It was Moriah. “Lili!” Moriah gasped, as the carriage stopped. “Hurry! Get in my carriage. Good Lord! You’re all muddy. Come cousin, we must dress for dinner. I have so many lovely exciting things to tell you.”

“Oh! Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.” Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Moriah sat across from Lilia at the table, her dark raven hair put up in ringlets all about the face. Her face was flush from heat of the fire. She wore a wine colored long sleeved dress with a white wrap that puffed out from the excess amount of fabric in the sleeves. Lilia could do nothing but indulge herself in the mulberry wine she was drinking at dinner as Moriah twittered about without ceasing about endless things like gentlemen’s crevats, Lady Susan’s hat, and of course the Duke of Devonshire. Having seen so little of society, entangled with the fact that Moriah was a bit of a gossip, didn’t help the situation. Lilia thought to interrupt as Moriah went on with what seemed like endless breath about a list of eligible bachelors in the neighborhood, as if Lilia, being now one and twenty, had absolutely no idea how many eligible bachelors there were though she had been living there all her life. Lilia continued to indulge herself but perked up at Moriah spoke finally of something of interest. “And so Lili, my brother Jasper is taking leave from his duties as lawyer and has written that he shall arrive exactly tomorrow morning by the 9’oclock coach.

“I cannot think well of a man who sports with any women’s feelings; and there may be often a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.” –Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

The aspen brushed against her eyes and made ringlets of curl fall into her face. He reached up with nimble fingertips and brushed them aside with such an intimate caress that it was more like a kiss. Lilia could feel the heat of Jaspers breath on her neck. She leaned her back against the base of the tree and recited the peerage backwards under her breath. The early morning sun shimmered through the leaves and made jaspers emerald eyes, pools of mischief, shine and sparkle. Jasper ran his lips across the base of Lilia’s neck when the sound of hoof beats in the distance made him cling to her. Lilia had reached the Duchess of York when he pulled her into the safety of the grove as Micheal Lewes rode by on horseback “Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable, always requiring new assurances from the object of its affection.” –Alan Watts

I lost track of the peerage at the Dutchess of York. I do not deem it of interest to my own mind that I can be so distracted by the male sex. I pulled myself free from his glorious clutches and stared determined into his emerald eyes that sparkled with amusement. When in doubt, go back to decorum. “Mr. Hewitt, I dare say I’ve enough of your nonsense till Michelmas! By all rights you damage what little reputation I have for myself, measured not against the feelings of merit.” Jasper traced his hand along my arm, the affect of which in such fine weather was to give me chills.

“You damage your own reputation, my dear. Far be it from me to get in the way of a woman’s virtue. A pox upon me if I ruin what petty innocence you claim to have. You are far too clever for that, Lilia. For sure, you have read much worse than anything I have ever done to you in one of your novels. And yet it is your cleverness that gauges my attention.”

“Is that my only curiosity? Is that my only security? Nay, I’m sure you cannot have it better.”

“When you sink into this abyss again, and again you shall, you will have less to say and less of a divided attention. I daresay, you shant even make it to the duchess of York.”

“ I dare say I thought you had to be to your sister’s house my half past nine. What ever shall you tell her?”

“You forget darling, that you are still my cousin. What shall Moriah think of two cousins together? By Jove the things the neighborhood will say.”

“Perhaps you should determine for yourself how much female vexation you can handle, jasper. Moriah is the epitome of female vexation, a force to be reckoned with.”

Jasper leaned in and spoke the words against my lips “It is you, my inconstant love, that are a force to be reckoned with.”

“To love deeply in one direction makes us more loving in all others.”—Ann Radcliff

A dark haired figure in naval uniform, in all the glory of his rank and brass buttons, rode up to the house of Lilia Banbury, and sent up his card. At the present moment Lilia was entertaining Moriah and Jasper for dinner. The servant wandered haphazardly though the house to the dining room, having never really learnt the way.

Betsy came in slowly to the room and put a silver tray at my left hand. I glanced down while Moriah rattled on endlessly as usual, and the name embossed on the card, bloody well made me swoon in my seat. I could not catch my breath, for I was no longer in the dining room with Moriah and Jasper, but in the hills and moor of long ago, letter grasped and memorized, the words written on my heart.

Dear Miss Banbury,

I write you in haste and with a heavy heart. I cannot seem to find the words to waylay what it is that I have to tell you, and hope that you will not find me corse and unfeeling in my telling of it. I served with Edmund on the Vesper, a voyage to the west indies that I say with regret brought back not enough of my men, and was lacking Edmund. For some time he had been troubled with great fever, we thought perhaps a plague. Had I known that you were betrothed to him, I would never have let him join my men in the West Indies. My dear Miss Banbury, your Edmund is dead.

Sincerely Yours,

Admiral Westin

“Are you ill, Lilia?” Jasper had put down his fork and Moriah’s prattle had ceased. I passed the card to Moriah. “Admiral Edmund Burlington. Admiral Burlington? I don’t understand. I though your Edmund was dead, and he never was an admiral. This came just now? He is outside? What ever are you going to do, cousin?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m bloody going to do, Moriah,” he breathed as he rose from the table. Jasper’s eyes saw only red. I stood to stop him, almost losing my balance. “It might not be him Jasper. Betty, tell Admiral Burlington we would enjoy the pleasure of his company.”

“Three things cannot be hidden long: the sun, the moon, the truth.” Budda

I remained standing, fortified against the teak table. It was not by design that I was standing when Edmund entered the room. I simply could not bring myself to move, voices of long ago ringing irreverently in my ears: your Edmund is dead. Betsy announced him as he entered the room, rigidly moving about in the doorway. The years had altered his appearance. He seemed somewhat dark to me now, dark hair, darkened skin by the sun, dark eyes remaining ever soul piercing.

Admiral Burlington lurked in the doorway, his dark, brooding presence surrounded with a myriad of suspicion. Lilia stood grasping the ---table. Jasper had risen from table, grasping unconsciously grasping his napkin in anger. Moriah sat dumbly at the table, for once, having nothing to say. “Edmund—Admiral, please join us for dinner. Betsy, do bring the admiral a plate and some wine.” Edmund crosses the room with a practiced methodical movement, somewhat like the march of the sea at high tide. He bowed to Lilia, and all she could manage was to drop instantaneously to her chair. “Risen from the grave have you?” inquired Jasper. Jasper’s indignant mood spread across the table to Lilia like a flame mixed with gasoline. “Yes, Admiral. What brings you so far from the cemetery? It’s been five years since Westin proclaimed you dead. Why do you haunt me now? And today of all days, the anniversary of your death?”

“I must beg your forgiveness, Lilia, for I have only just learnt of my death and have come two thousand miles to witness to you that I am alive. Westin has just died. It was on his deathbed that he confessed to me that he had proclaimed me dead to you just after my commission on the vesper.” Edmund reached in his satchel and pulled out a stack of letters. He slid them across the table to Lilia.

I stared abashed at my own letters to Edmund staring back at me. They were unopened and bound together. The other stack, a yellowish paper, his letters to me, bound up in the same way. It was a while before Edmund spoke. “He kept our letters, Lilia. He gave them to me when he died.” I almost couldn’t speak. “You’ve read them then?” “I brought them to you first. And on the chance you did not turn me from your sight, I have just one more for you.”

“A loving heart is the truest wisdom.”—Charles Dickens

My Dearest Lilia,

If you are reading this it means that you are still not wed, now five years hence having learnt of my fictitious death. I cannot begin to imagine what grief this lie has caused you; nor can I suppose to guess if your heart still considers a name such as wretched as my own. I can only attempt to articulate my own feelings upon the subject. In all my years of absence, I have never felt any less passion and intenseness of ardor toward you as I did upon the time so long ago when I asked for your hand. There has never been anyone since you, dearest Lilia, and there shall be no one after.

Yours Always,

Edmund

“Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.” –Charles Dickens

An obnoxious drunken tenor wafted through the rafters of the ceiling. Jasper clutched his rum and staggered about the drawingroom. Lilia hovered in a corner that he did not see. Jasper threw his tankard across the room, aiming at the darkhaired figure in the corner. “I’ll be the death of you, Burlington!”He snarled. Edmund moved from the shadows. Lilia moved into the candle light.

“No one is useless in the world who lightens the burden of another.” –Charles Dickens

The cherry pianoforte sat facing away from the vast fireplace, a light with candles. An abundance of sheet music was strewn about the room so as there was no where to sit. Lilia had been playing all night, as she often did when she was working out a problem or a phrase in one of her writings. She played slowly when she pondered, madly, vigorously when she was arguing with herself via internal monologue. Edmund came towards her and sat down at the pianoforte with her, and began to turn the pages as she played. He began to hum the harmony as she played, keeping up with her speed and rhythm whether or not she pondered or argued.

“Love is not so much a matter of Romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the wellbeing of one’s companion.” Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

The wind blew Lilia’s red hair across the sky as if a painter had left a stroke of red across the sky. She struggled to keep her periwinkle wrap around her bonnet. Her layers of crimson and black shawl bubbled up like froth from the ocean waves. Her green dress was now muddy, as always, and growing soaked with rain. She had been walking through gardens and fields until she ended up out onto the moor where abandonment and sadness spoke as it soaked her. Lilia was used to long walking but the howl of the moor and the chill of the rain made her want to collapse. My dear Miss Banbury, your Edmund is dead.

Lilia was started awake by her dream, coming to find that her head was rested on the pianoforte. Jasper, drunk and snoring, sprawled by the fire in her father’s chair. She sighed and looked about the room. She was growing wearing of this dream. It was a dream she had dreamt for five years now. Suddenly she remembered that Edmund was here. Her eyes darted about the dimly lit room, casting themselves haphazardly about across portraits and drapes. She felt a touch at her hand. Edmund was still sitting beside her at the pianoforte, used to his long night watches at sea.

“Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts?”-Alfred Lord Tennyson, Love and Duty

Edmund reached across her lap and moved a stray tendril of curl from her paling face. “He saddens, all the magic light, Dies off at once from bower and hall. And all the place is dark and all the chambers emptied of delight…” his voice trailed off as he traced Lilia’s jaw with his thumb. Lilia breathed slowly, deliberately. “so I find every pleasant spot in which we two were want to meet, the field, the chamber, and the street, for all is dark where you are not…”

I would always rather be happy than dignified. –Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre.

Lilia wandered sleeplessly about the house in her wedding veil and night clothes. She sat down at the piano and played something mournful. She had not chosen a mournful piece by desighn, it was simply what her fingers knew, what they went to by habit. She had not played any joyful music in the years since her letter from admiral westin. She played slowly, her mind somewhere else. As she was now one and twenty she could marry without her father’s consent. She had always loved Edmund, but she did not know how to reconcile herself to losing Jasper. Her eyes focused for a moment and realized Edmund was sitting on one of the chairs, watching her. She looked down at the pianoforte. Lilia felt as though her thoughts were written about her face, and that Edmund could read them. She was, in fact, wearing the veil from five years ago that had never gotten any use.

Edmund rose and came toward her, candle in hand. “we have no secrets, Lilia. Jasper has always had it in for me and always had his eye on you, for as long as I care to remember. I think you know there is only one way to go about the matter.” Edmund handed her a letter. “Leave this for your father.”

Dark house, by which once more I stand/here in the long unlovely street/ doors where my heart was used to beat/ so quickly waiting for a hand. Tennyson.

Dear Sir,

I would rather you think most unhighly of me than put any pains upon the reputation of your daughter. This letter is written that you may rest your heart, and not think that I have stolen her away from you or take with me something that did not belong to me, her virtue. Mr. Banbury, I merely seek to claim that which I claimed as mine by virtue of your daughter’s own acceptance, what was mine so long ago. Being now an admiral I can provide for Lilia in ways that in my early days at sea I never could. We were married this morning at half past three. Lilia and I are now headed to the south of France, where I am commissioned. It seemed the best this way, you see, and I think you, of all men, know the reason why.

Sincerely Yours,

Admiral Edmund Burlington

Notes

Austen, Jane. Mansfield Park. Quoted on pages 2, 3, 4.

Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey. Quoted on page 4.

Bronte, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. Quoted on page 10.

Wollstonecraft, Mary. Vindication of the right of women. 130. Quoted page 1.

Tennyson, Alfred. Love and Duty. Quoted on page 10.

Tennyson, Alfred, Sonnet VIII lines 5-12 . Quoted in dialogue on page 10.

Works Consulted

What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew: From Fox Hunting to Whist-the Facts of Daily Life in Nineteenth-Century England by Daniel Pool.

Fiction Writer's Brainstormer by James V. Smith Jr.