The Vicar's Daughters

Rievaulx Abbey

The gaiety and delight of the group could not be contained indoors. It spilled out into the vicarage courtyard, where three carriages were in preparation for a long day's outing. The baskets were still being packed at the kitchen door, handed out to servants to stow in one carriage or another. Ladies were pulling on their gloves, shaking out their parasols, checking their stock of handkerchiefs and hat pins. Finally all were ready.

"Sir John, please be careful with our daughters," admonished Vicar Pearce. "Do not have your man drive too fast over the moor roads. And be attentive to the horses—one may pick up a rock, or throw a shoe! Are you sure you don't want my groom to go along with your conveyance?"

Sir John shook his head, yet the Vicar still eyed the horses pulling the barouche with a critical mien. "Good sir, they are four of the finest horses," he soothed, "and they have very good stamina. We will have a jolly drive."

"They're not the finest if they're not from me," the vicar said with a quirk of his eyebrow. John smiled and tipped his hat.

A few feet away, Lord and Lady Ellsworth were waiting in a town coach bearing the Burley estate insignia, with Mr. And Mrs Lloyd and their son. Their driver sat atop, watching the way the servants were loading picnic baskets to ensure they were balanced.

Finally the vicar and his wife, along with Marian and Phoebe Ellsworth, climbed into their coach and told Clyde to turn it about. The three carriages drove off in a line, sending fine clouds of dust into the still August air.

The beauty of the day could only be marred by one thought for Amanda: the house party at Burley was coming to an end. She and Dabney, Rachel and John had been together almost daily. Their outings brought them to Roseberry Topping, one of the region's dearest spots of beauty—they'd driven to the base and hiked all the way to the top, coming home exclaiming over the beauty of the view. They'd driven into the moors several times, gone to Northallerton and eaten at a coaching inn, and visited fields and gardens of exquisite beauty. Alas, Dabney had to return to Oxford soon, and his team was nearly ready as well. His visits over the past six weeks had come to be more than a pleasure—they were the very breath that infused her lungs. She lay down at night remembering all the moments she'd spent with Dabney, and woke up in anticipation of future moments with the same.

Her father had warmed to the idea of his youngest daughter being courted so openly. Of course, it was not an announced courtship, but an assumed attachment. Dabney often smiled in her direction, and she blushed at the brush of his hand. They sat as a pair in the parlor, with everyone watching, and spoke in quiet tones, with everyone still listening. How much clearer could their affection be?

Yet Amanda still longed for a declaration—something she could hold on to after he left. He implied his admiration, but never openly stated it. He acted the part of a suitor, but never declared his pursuit. She only wanted clarity—was that so much to ask?

Sitting in the barouche with Rachel and Sir John in front, she had Dabney at her side as they crossed the twenty miles to their afternoon's outing: Rievaulx Abbey. The beautiful stone arches of the building that towered three stories tall were all that were left after the monks had abandoned the site, but the new owners, Lord Duncombe, had turned it into a beautiful park, with a classic temple on the terrace above, and gardens both cultivated and wild surrounding it. They hoped that the journey would give them time for a picnic and then a swing past Helmsley Castle before returning home over the moors.

"I've seen the Abbey in paintings," Dabney explained to her. "The spot is quite a favorite for modern artists. The hills are always green, the sun golden, and the walls of the Abbey so impressive considering they were built by Cistercian monks over six hundred years ago!"