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Updated: June 28, 2025
Regulas Rothsay was a man of the people, who did not know any ancestry behind his laboring father, who could not have told the names of his grandparents. The Duke of Cumbervale was descended from eight generations of noblemen. Cora Haught saw and felt this contrast between the two men, so opposite in birth, rank, person, manner, character, and cultivation.
There was at this time another debutant in society, a young man, the Duke of Cumbervale, who had lately reached his majority and come into his estates, or what was left of them an ancient castle and a few barren acres in Northumberland, an old hall and a few acres in Sussex, and a town house in London; but his title was an historical one.
Cumbervale looked at the iron-gray man before him, thought certainly this must be their last meeting and parting on earth, and that therefore he would not cross the patriarch in his humor. "You are very kind. Thank you. I will break a parting bottle of wine with you willingly." In double-quick time the broiled partridges were served, the wine placed, and all was ready for the two men.
Have any of these English foplings and lordlings, with more peers in their pedigrees than pennies in their pockets, turned your head? If so, it is time for me to take you home." Cora did not reply. Only the night before, at the ball given by the Marchioness of Netherby, the Duke of Cumbervale had proposed to her, and had been referred to her grandfather.
But would it be good faith in me to marry Rule Rothsay, when I love Cumbervale?" "It would be good faith to keep your word, irrespective of your feelings, and bad faith to break it in consideration of your feelings! But you are too false to know this!" "Oh, sir! pray do not set your face against my marriage with Cumbervale, or insist on my marrying Rule!
A little later Mr. and Mrs. Fabian Rockharrt took leave and departed for their home. The Duke of Cumbervale, weary of a sleepless pillow, arose early and rang his bell, startling his gentlemanly valet from his morning slumbers; dressed himself with monsieur's assistance, and went down stairs with the intention of taking a walk before the family should be up.
I won't permit any woman about me to indulge in such tantrums. Listen to me, ma'am. My correspondent was young Cumbervale, the noodle!" "Then I never wish to see or hear or think of him again!" exclaimed Cora. "Indeed! But that is a woman all through. She will do or suffer anything to get her own way.
He took it up and read aloud: "The Duke of Cumbervale." "Show him in," said Mr. Rockharrt. A few minutes later the visitor entered the parlor, bowed to his host, and then shook hands with the two younger men, whom he had not seen since the evening before. "So you braved the storm after all, duke? You found the old house too dreary for a long, rainy day. Take a seat," said Mr.
The Duke of Cumbervale was slight and elegant in form, with small, perfectly shaped hands and feet derived from a long line of idle and useless ancestors finely cut Grecian profile, pure, clear, white skin, fine, silken, pale yellow hair and mustache, calm blue eyes, graceful movements, and refined manners.
"Look at me, mistress!" he said, placing his hands upon the arms of his chair, bending forward and gazing on her with fixed, keen eyes, that burned like fire beneath the pent roof of his shaggy iron-gray brows. Corona looked up at him. "Do you know, madam, that in rejecting the hand of the Duke of Cumbervale you have offered me an unpardonable affront?"
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