The Terra-Cotta Dress

He had seen her previously at these gatherings, as had been his status and as such duty, to be in places of high social standing. He hadn't known her name, nor her class, but felt drawn to her in ways he had never been drawn to another. His contacts had explained her name was Florence, from a simple family with not much money, and so "prospects seemed a little bleak, to say the least". Prospects were the least of Thomas' priorities. For her to have been in attendance of a gathering of such social standing was, of course, unusual. But Thomas had never been one to conform to social norms, and although from a wealthy family with a great inheritance, had never been one to succumb to the social practise of class prejudice, and had little patience (normally, for anyone he did not feel graced to be in the presence of) for those who did.

Previously, Florence had always been in attendance with a suitor. Thomas had noted Florence always appeared nervous, with little glimpses of content, which were more noticeable when her suitor had mocked her lack of money, and class. She always doted on one such man who neither had the social graces of a man of class, nor the politeness of a gentleman to have been in the presence of such beauty, Thomas had thought. Why she felt she had to form herself to please him, failed Thomas entirely. Why did she endure him? Why did he not approach her before? What was stopping him? The fact she had an apparent suitor? No, that was not the reason. She was different, and he felt that, maybe it was this that made him hesitant to approach her. Thomas had observed Florence for a long time from a distance, not knowing her, but feeling connected with her regardless. This feeling was new and unusual for Thomas, and he wanted to hold on to it.

Tonight was different, and Thomas felt drawn towards her more strongly. Tonight she had been alone, the tears still in her eyes, glistening near the candlelight, where she stood. Thomas had been watching Florence for a while now, not realising a slight smile had arisen from simply being near her. Her dark hair loosely tied up, looking beautiful as always, he thought, wearing a terra-cotta dress. The night was fairly dark, and the thunderstorm clouds had already gathered, allowing him to maintain a safe, silent distance between them. Maintaining this short distance between them, he had walked out to the balcony of the country house behind her.

The light from inside the grand hall allowed a low glow to path the way to the edge of the balcony. Florence gripped the edge of the balcony, deep in thought, she had been left alone. She had tried to form herself in the way he wanted, but nothing ever seemed good enough, she thought. Her humiliation had her crying; her sobbing being silently and closely watched at a short distance from an ardent admirer, of which she was unaware.

He wanted so much to comfort her. Thomas stepped towards Florence; hand outstretched, nervously approaching her lightly shaking back, the low noise from the gathering behind them becoming an insignificant hum. The rain started suddenly, and fell hard on the candle lit balcony. Her tears were momentarily hidden, and the force of the rain released her dark tresses around her shoulders. This was her moment to leave; she ran down a set of steps towards the front of the country house. Thomas started towards her, following her closely and keeping her within his sight. He refused to miss her again, and he called for his carriage to be brought forward. Florence was now running towards the country house gates through the pelting storm, while Thomas demanded his carriage driver speed up to catch her.

Florence stopped before the gates out of exhaustion due to the weight of the rain drenching her long gown. Her dress was now soaked through, earth trailed up from the hem of the dress which she had so fondly chosen to wear tonight. Thomas' carriage came to a halt; he leaned out of the door drawing Florence in from the storm. There they stayed sitting in the silent, motionless carriage, the horse stopped before the gates. The rain had drenched Florence through. Her hair, now covering her face, dripped as it hid away her eyes.

Thomas moved slightly towards her leaning in from the back of the carriage. Florence hadn't moved sitting on the edge of her seat, except for a slight shivering. Her lips slightly parted, the sound of her heightened breathing, shaking from the cold and her tears. Thomas moved her hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear touching her cheek and neck; Florence looked up to meet his now fixed gaze. He placed his coat around her shoulders to stop her shivering. This moment was the closest he had ever been to her, and he was nervous.

His eyes flitted quickly between her lips and eyes, edging closer to her in the already very small space. Holding her face, Thomas touched her lips lightly with the edge of his thumb. His touch made Florence flinch, he moved in further. Swallowing hard, she felt herself leaning towards the warmth of his face. Eyes lowered, Florence was close to his lips, and Thomas' short quick breaths fell lightly on the corner of her lips. She leaned upwards, his hand under her chin, he couldn't see anything else.

Thomas parted his lips tilting his head to the right, eyebrows creased, and eyes half open and fixed on her lower lip. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he wanted their lips to touch. Thomas slipped his hand behind Florence's neck pulling her in closer, eyes closed. She felt warm and surreal.

He had thought about her for a very long time since the first night he saw her. What she felt like, the touch of her skin, her hair, her lips. He ached for this moment for a long time. Thomas' breath trembled as they leaned into each other. Florence placed her hand on his chest, and felt his heartbeat, fast and very noticeable.

At that moment she noticed the rain had suddenly stopped. How long had they been in the carriage? Suddenly very aware of her surroundings, immediately Florence pulled back. She gripped the hem of the coat around her shoulders. Taken aback at the intensity of their interaction, she touched her hand to her mouth, her eyes rapidly drawing around Thomas' face. Startled, Thomas' eyes snapped open, taken aback by the sudden movement. His hand remained lightly on the side of her neck, his mouth now lightly pressed closed.

She recognised him. He had been at every gathering she had been to. He had always maintained a short distance between them, but Florence had always been very wary of Thomas' attendance. There had never been a point when she hadn't noticed Thomas, in fact. He seemed to bring a presence with him while entering a room that made him difficult to ignore, and she had always noticed when he left. But Thomas was not the person she came for, what was she doing? Florence turned to the carriage door, pushing at the glass to open it, and ran out through the gates, not noticing Thomas leaning out.

Thomas shouted after her, running out towards Florence, momentarily looking down to pick up the coat he had placed around her shoulders that she had dropped as she ran away. By the time Thomas looked up, Florence had rushed out of the gates. Calling out to her, he clutched the coat that had wrapped her.

Thomas walked slowly back to his, now empty, carriage. He climbed in, touching Florence's hand print left on the condensation filled glass window of the door, his last thoughts remained, "I should have kissed her if the rain had lasted a minute more".