... "He stood staring at the envelope in his hand on which his name was written in an elegant flowing script... Mister Darcy. The faint scent of lavender, her scent, carried up to him. The event transpired so quickly he had no opportunity to think of what to say or do. He had stepped from his carriage, felt a brush against his arm and over the cacophony of the busy London street he heard a soft voice say "Sir, I think you must have dropped this," as a small, gloved hand pressed an envelope into his hand. He watched the somehow familiar figure of the retreating woman as she quickly stepped away." ...