Free Castles by Julie Garwood Page B

visitors were titled members of the ton, but there were also artists and laborers as well. Alesandra’s father had had a wide range of friends. He had been an excellent judge of character, a trait she believed she had inherited, and she found she liked every one of his friends.
    Matthew Andrew Dreyson was her last appointment. The elderly, potbellied man had been her father’s trusted agent in England, and he still handled some of Alesandra’s assets. Dreyson had held the coveted position of subscriber on the rolls of Lloyd’s of London for over twenty-three years. His standards as a broker were of the very highest. He wasn’t just ethical; he was also clever. Alesandra’s father had instructed his wife, who in turn had instructed his daughter, that in the event of his death Dreyson should be leaned upon for financial advice.
    Alesandra invited him to stay for dinner. Flannaghan and Valena served the meal. The lady’s maid did most of the work, however, as Flannaghan was busy listening to the financial discussion at the table. He was astonished that a woman would have extensive knowledge of the marketplace, and made a mental note to tell his employer what he had overheard.
    Dreyson spent a good two hours going over various recommendations. Alesandra added one of her own, then completed her transactions. The broker used only her initials when placing his slips before the underwriters at Lloyd’s, because it was simply unthinkable for a woman to invest in any venture. Even Dreyson would have been appalled if he’d known the suggestions she gave him actually came from her, but she understood the man’s prejudice against women. She’d gotten around that obstacle by inventing an old friend of the family she called her Uncle Albert. She told Dreyson the man wasn’t really related to her, but she held such great affection for him she’d begun to think of him as her relative years ago. To ensure Dreyson wouldn’t try to investigate the man, she added the mention that Albert had been a close personal friend of her father’s.
    Dreyson’s curiosity had been appeased by her explanation. He didn’t have any qualms about taking stock orders from a man, although he did comment more than once how odd it was that Albert allowed her to sign her initials as his ambassador. He wanted to meet her adviser and honorary relative, but Alesandra quickly explained that Albert was a recluse these days and wouldn’t allow company. Since he’d moved to England, he found visitors a distraction to his peaceful daily routine, she lied. Because Dreyson was making a handsome commission on each order he placed with the underwriters, and because Uncle Albert’s advice to date had been quite on the mark, he didn’t argue with the princess. If Albert didn’t wish to meet him, so be it. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate his client. Albert, he decided, was simply eccentric.
    After dinner they returned to the salon, where Flannaghan served Dreyson a glass of port. Alesandra sat on the settee across from her guest and listened to several amusing stories about the subscribers who haunted the floors of the Royal Exchange. She would have loved to see for herself the gleaming hardwood floors cluttered with wooden stalls they called boxes where the underwriters conducted their business. Dreyson told her about a quaint custom that had begun way back in 1710, referred to as the Caller in the Room. A waiter, he explained, known as the Kidney, would step up into what looked very like a pulpit and read the newspapers in a loud, clear voice while the audience of gentlemen sat at their tables and sipped their drinks. Alesandra had to be content to picture the events in her mind, however, as women were not allowed in the Royal Exchange.
    Colin came home just as Dreyson was finishing his drink. He tossed his cloak in Flannaghan’s direction, then strode into the salon. He came to a