The ballroom was simply exquisite. Huge, brilliantly-crafted chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the hall brightly. Drinks were being served in every corner of the room by waiters clad in white, clean uniforms. Long, massive doors on the sides, had been shut tight, disallowing the icy wind inside and so the room was warm and comforting.
It seemed as if the Duke was a person with many acquaintances as the room was very crowded but slowly and gradually, it began to clear as men and women moved to the lawns outside.
Charlotte had swept off to the other side of the room following Mr. Collins, leaving me completely alone to myself. I did not know anyone over here. The men and women were way older than me and so, finding no one to engage myself in conversation; I retired to the far corner where one of the doors was slightly open, leading to a balcony outside. Laying my hands and elbows upon the railing, I allowed the cold air jostle my hair and captivate my senses on sighting the panorama that beheld my eyes. The sooty clouds had completely disappeared, transforming into a most sublime shade of azure, amongst which the pearly stars and the moon twinkled teasingly. I was mesmerized. Lost in this enchanting view, irresistibly appealing like some winsome portion of heaven, I was completely off-guard, when a soothing yet deep voice, issued over my shoulder, its extreme gentleness- a delicious piece of music to my ears,
“Thy voice is on the rolling air,
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting sun thou art fair.”
“Lord Alfred Tennyson,” I whispered to the air, transfixed- my back still facing the source of these bewitching verses. Slowly and gradually, I turned around, and what stood before me might be an angel from heaven itself. The gentleman was exceeding handsome. Clad in a jet-black suit, with velvet laces running at the front, a deep red rose flirtingly peering out from his pocket. His dark hair had been settled in spikes and his chiseled angular features seemed the slice the icy blast in half. My mind still lingered over the charming words that had escaped those thin, full lips.
“Correct. Takes an equally inquisitive interest in poetry to understand that. Oh dear, where are my manners?” Saying so, he gracefully bowed down, the charming smile still playing around his mouth, and spoke, “I’m the Duke Nicholas Rostov, madam. And, you must the beauteous Miss Elizabeth Bennet; Lady Catherine speaks high of your looks but not so of your zealous interest in literature, which is why, you see, I’m here.”
“So do you like poetry, sir?” I asked, moving my eyes off his captivating blue eyes.
“Like would be an understatement. I view poetry as a person, madam, with all five senses- sight, smell, taste, sound and touch. I have mastered all especially sight, which remains my greatest weakness,” he said, his gaze fixed upon mine.
Who was this handsome gentleman, I wondered. Prepossessing appearance, dignified gait and above all, a wonderful taste in poetry!
“Pardon me. Mr. Rostov, but I thought of you as quite an old man when your name was mentioned before me. I must say, such youngness, as you depict, quite surprises!”
“Ah, then you acted exactly like Marian in Collins’s ‘Woman in White.’ Indeed, it is true that appearances and positions in society often slight our judgment of people. Pardon me, madam, if I am boring you by my references to literary characters; my exterior might appear young but quite old I am in mind.”
“Boring me? Mr. Rostov, I’ve never met an equally engaging person with taste exactly similar as mine in my life! You mentioned ‘Woman in White’ – what think you of Count Fosco’s affections for Marian? Do you think his love was of the genuine sort and that he met a most tragic end?”
“No, definitely not. I believe when a man is ardently in love with a woman but his foul habits, much disliked by the lady, seem to be getting in the way, with the sole purpose of feeding her desires, he would instantly do away with them lest he loses the one he adores above everything.”
“But in the general sense that you speak, you consider only one woman in this case; what if the man is in zealous love with two ladies- both equally appealing in manner and looks? Does the fact that he is in fervent love with both, give him a right to cheat on both of them, by spending half of his time in one’s and the other half in the latter’s company?”
“No-in-deed not,” He spoke with slight hesitation and I noticed an awkwardness possess his expression and I was about to inquire about it when, he immediately regained his jovial spirits and broke out,
“Dear Lord, you must be freezing out here! Pray, accompany me inside where we shall equally pleasantly engage ourselves with dancing.”
Offering his arm, he led me inside, his hand gently curled around my narrow waist. We became so engrossed in our discussion of poets and authors while dancing, that I almost lost track of time and it was only when I saw Charlotte approaching me did I realize the ball had reached a close.
“Eliza, I shall be offering my farewell to Lady Catherine, after that, we would be leaving instantly.” Charlotte gave a smile towards Mr. Rostov and walked in the other direction. Duke Nicholas, instantly turned his gaze towards and, in passionate spirits, broke out,
“Miss Bennet, never I have in my life encountered an equally heavenly creature before. Pray, would you visit me next week again? - I shall call in another ball-just for the sake of your charming presence! I’ll even dispatch my own carriage! So tell me, Miss Eliza Bennet, would you honor me with your charisma next weekend?” He spoke with such passionate desire and emotion that I could never doubt his affections. Most truly, I myself had also never met such a fascinating gentleman before. How, in my wildest dreams, could I ever deny such an appealing offer?
“Yes, Mr. Rostov, I will!”
“Thank you, Miss Bennet! I’m most grateful!”
Saying so, he softly bowed, took the elegant rose out of his pocket and laid it gently in my hand. Flushing, I instantly looked away, with amusement, and slowly drawing my hands out of his grip (much against my will); I glided off to the other end of the room, feeling his gaze, following my figure across the room.
Chapter Ten: ‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.’
The mere hope that this enchanting meeting with The Duke would help me drive Mr. Darcy out of my mind, was all in vain. His thin, slender handwriting that was painted across the brown paper lying on my desk, haunted my thoughts every minute. And yet, I was determined. Adamant to forget the remorseful prejudice with which I had so brutally judged his character. My indifference to this regret was however, short-lived. The very next day of the ball, a letter arrived from Jane which instantly cracked down the wall of resistance which I had, with so much difficulty, built. It ran thus:
“O’ Lizzy, I have the most wonderful news in the world! You will hardly believe me when I tell you who visited us in town yesterday. Last evening when Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had went to the market for some business, and I was busy in completing my chores, the bell rang and in came Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley! Mr. Bingley was ever so enthusiastic to meet me and promised to do so more often. And surprising though it may seem to you, Mr. Darcy seemed all graces! He talked to me for more than half an hour, mainly subjecting his conversation around his admiration for you and how your love for literature seems to captivate his senses so much. Moreover, Mr. Bingley told me that it was all thanks to Mr. Darcy that he had come to know of my arrival in town – Oh Lizzy, can you believe it? Mr. Darcy, of whom we thought of so unpleasantly, actually became the means of Mr. Bingley’s and my reconciliation! I prefer you change your opinion of him too, Lizzy- if only you would meet him you would know how genial he has become now.”
Jane’s letter, for the first time, seemed to horrify my senses heavily. My affections, shamefulness and regret towards Mr. Darcy had become alive suddenly. There was no explaining why. Jane’s letter had truly been the instigator but there were other reasons too. The explanation of his acts in his letter, which had diss
olved all of my abhorrence towards him, coupled with the realization of his conceit having been completely transformed, as justified by Jane’s letter, roused my rare liking towards him yet again. Mr. Rostov’s remark suddenly seemed to cross my mind; ‘I believe when a man is ardently in love with a woman but his foul habits, much disliked by the lady, seem to be getting in the way- with the sole purpose of feeding her desires, he would instantly do away with them lest he loses the one he adores above everything.’ Hadn’t Mr. Darcy done exactly the same thing? Banished his pride and reticence for the cause of winning me?
These confusing thoughts occupied the most of mind almost the entire week until Sunday, when putting Mr. Darcy at the far end of my mind, I seated myself In Duke Nicholas’s carriage and set off to Derbyshire with Charlotte. The journey was long yet engaging. And so, without even realizing how much time had passed, we reached Duke Rostov’s quarters quite soon.
The ballroom was once again, very crowded but today, the doors at the sides, overlooking the lawns, stood ajar, and cool winds sweeping in, had made the room very cold. Mr. Rostov was nowhere to be seen. Charlotte had, once again walked off towards Lady Catherine and was soon engrossed in conversation. I found myself completely idle and bored. However, it was not long before I noticed him.
He was standing far out of the ballroom, leaning against a tree, anxiously searching for someone. Attired in a deep blue coat and white shirt front, he once again looked immensely mesmerizing. Softly, without making any sound, I approached him, and stood right behind him. He was muttering to himself, apprehensively,
“O dear, where is she?”
“Who, Mr. Rostov?”
And instantly, he turned on his heels, his expression relieved upon sighting me,
“Oh, it is you! Finally! Here, follow me!” And taking my arm gently, he led me to the outside rose garden which was isolated at the moment and said,
“Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Indeed. Quite captivating,” I said, smiling pleasantly towards him.
Seeing my pleasure, he motioned towards the plants and plucked out a rose and presented it to me. I adjusted it nicely at the top of my bun.
“You really look wonderful, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rostov.”
Following this, we again fell into a hearty conversation, involving books, poetry and music. He had an exceptional love for music and had learned to play the piano at a very early age.
As it began to grow dark, he suddenly moved closer to me and spoke,
“Miss Bennet, the moment I laid my eyes upon you- your slim figure, graceful movements and enrapturing beauty, I could not deny the affections that rose in my heart and at first, even though I viewed them ill-founded, your fondness for literature has only just enhanced my feelings for you. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride: so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
“Pablo Neruda. Impressive, Nicholas.”
A heart-melting smile licked his lips, his eyes full with passionate desire, his movements agitated, as he took his hand in mine and bowed low,
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Upon this, I looked deep into his eyes and, glimpsed the reflection of my equal desire and fervent passions- how could I ever deny such zealous ardor?
“Mr. Nicholas Rostov, your avidity, energy and desire that sparks off from your every gesture has possessed my mind the entire week. I have never met nor can I ever imagine encountering such genuine fervor ever after. Yes, I love you with equal sincerity and vehemence Nicholas- so much so that your thoughts are my thoughts and your heart mine.”
As soon as the words escaped my lips, his passionate gaze met mine, his eyes locking with mine, our bodies immobilized with the fervent intimacy.
Then, he took out a glamorous ring from his pocket, the crimson stone glinting in the moonlight and wore it in my ring finger.
“Elizabeth, I have some visitor to attend to at the moment and so I have to leave- I’m immensely sorry. But pray do not worry; I shall be paying a visit at your house very soon!” Saying so, he hurried off, leaving me lost deeply in love.
As I made my way back to the ballroom, I found Charlotte standing alone in the corner and wriggled my ring finger to her. Instantly, she broke out excitedly,
“O’ Eliza! What does this mean?”
“Charlotte, Duke Nicholas just proposed to me, and I accepted!”
Hearing such spectacular news, Charlotte hugged me tightly and as it had become very late, we settled ourselves in the carriage and rode back home.
Chapter Eleven: A tragic shock and deep remorse
The entire next day, I danced around my room every moment or so. Nicholas’s creative way of proposing me, enchanted my mind and I couldn’t stop myself from noticing how lucky I had been. I had not yet written to Jane about the proposal, leaving it as a surprise when I would visit town next week. I had requested Charlotte to keep the news to herself. She had, instantly agreed, and had not even informed Mr. Collins of it yet.
I spent the whole day reading poetry, most preferably Neruda’s, whose verses reminded me of Nicholas of whose absence was a constant punishment for my heart. Many a time I had decided to write to him but had instantly stopped, thinking that he would definitely write first, having promised to approach me soon last evening. His hasty departure, however, had seemed very odd. Perhaps, he really had an urgent meeting with someone but the notion of it being so late in the evening still seemed quite strange. Yet, abstaining myself to think ill of him in any aspect especially after the wonderful treatment with which he had graced me, I diverted my thoughts to Jane and Mr. Bingley.
The probability of their marriage seemed very likely. Jane had recently sent me another letter, informing me of Mr. Bingley’s visit to her in town, and of the fast pace with which things seemed to be moving between them. Mr. Bingley’s visits were now more occasional and often alone, preferring solitary time with Jane. According to Jane, however, Mr. Darcy had left town for God knows where.
Mr. Darcy…his name still sent jolts in my body. It seemed shameful how I had abandoned my thoughts about his proposal and blindly entered into another- no, not blindly, Nicholas had been, though ill-acquainted with my family, equally flawless in his manners and behavior and was certainly a suitable suitor for me. Yet, still deep down inside my heart something seemed to bother me constantly. Why did it seem so hard letting go of Mr. Darcy when next to him, Nicholas was definitely a better gentleman- no, not better, perhaps equal?
No matter how much I struggled to close off Mr. Darcy’s entry into my mind, it was never enough. He seemed to be a handsome plague gripping my thoughts.
Thinking that perhaps a change of environment would tame the confusion occupying my mind, I set out of the house for a solitary walk. I walked for long hours in the park, the fresh air definitely soothing my senses when the sight of gentleman striding towards me hastily, in amusingly anxious spirits, stopped me. It was Mr. Darcy.
Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, he looked very casual as opposed to his usual, formal self. His hair, having grown a little long, were drawn back neatly, but had been trimmed at the sides. He was wearing a most concerned expression. What had brought him so urgently to Rosings?
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he said, approaching me, “I’m here to speak to you about something very important, a reality, which you have once again, in your oblivion not noticed. I am aware that you have been speaking to Duke Nicholas Rostov lately, and guessing from that ring, he has also proposed and you have, accepted. Pardon me, for telling you this, that his abode, which is just in neighborhood to Pemberly, my residence, has allowed me know much more about him than you can im
agine, not even in your wildest dreams. Without any intention of paining you, I only desire the best for you and would therefore want you to know the truth lest it is too late. Nicholas Rostov, you see is secretly engaged to a woman-”
“No! Preposterous! I never saw any woman near him the whole time that evening!”
“Yes, that is because he does not allow her to leave the house and keeps her restricted to her room. You may judge his character from the brutal treatment of his own wife. It is believed that the woman belongs to a very wealthy family and Nicholas only married her for the fortune that she inherited following her matrimony. Once married, Nicholas has employed every cruelty he can to torture her and has since flirted and danced with women at her back. Miss Bennet, if you think of these facts as baseless, I implore you to reconsider; I contacted a close friend of the family, Edward Raymond, who has now left working for the family upon knowing such abhorrent news. Miss Bennet, I can never imagine, leave alone see you with this monster! I beseech you to abandon this vile relationship and secure your happiness elsewhere.” Upon uttering the last line, he awkwardly looked away but the gentle affection with which he still beheld me, did not escape my eyes.
“Oh, that obnoxious monster! How can he torment his own wife like this? Such hypocrisy! How he talked about love, made me feel like he understood it, more deeply than others- that foul, foul plaster saint!” Saying so, I began to sob, angry tears crawling uncontrollably down my cheeks- my heart seared by the pain that brew within, the ill judgment once again! Oh, how shall I ever redeem myself! My observation once again betraying me!
As I stood in this state of despair, weeping wildly, Mr. Darcy pressed my hand comfortably and led me towards a nearby bench.
“Miss Bennet, you did not know- you cannot blame yourself for something of which you were ignorant. Pray stop crying.” His voice was soothing to my sorrow, his concern- a remedy to my anger.
Confusion, Confession and Conviction Page 18