Meeting Millie Oxford Romance 1 1st Edition Clare Ashton PDF Download
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Clare Ashton
Meeting Millie
by Clare Ashton
Published by:
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Acknowledgements
I lived in Oxford for over a decade and still miss the place. It’s
been wonderful to stay there again in my imagination and I have
two more books in mind for the Oxford Romance series. There’s lots
in the future for these characters.
For this novel, I need to thank Diana again. I really wouldn’t
want to do a book without you. You invariably appreciate what I’m
trying to achieve and have perfected the art of telling me I haven’t
achieved it in a way that makes me knuckle down instead of giving
up writing. It’s a fine balance.
Gabby is another hugely treasured reader who gets sent the
raw first draft and still sees through the mess to what I’m trying to
do. The cheerleading, encouragement, spot-on observations and
entertaining chat are so much appreciated.
Thanks to Cindy for always bringing another perspective and,
in this book particularly, your feedback has improved it crucially, I
think. So many thanks!
This book took longer to write than expected, and I’m very
grateful to later readers for extra pairs of eyes. Thank you to Sue for
entertaining comments and reassurance. And Lucy for
encouragement and Britishism spotting.
I count myself extremely lucky to have all your input.
The usual disclaimer applies though – these may be skilled
practitioners, but there’s still a stubborn author at the receiving end
who might not take their advice. All remaining issues are my own.
To Jayney
Chapter 1
“Hello,” said the woman with bouncing curls and the biggest
grin. “I’m next door to you.”
Sun beamed through the dormer window of the small
kitchenette at the end of the corridor and set the woman and her
hair blazing with golden light.
Charlotte recognised her, the arm at least. Pink nail varnish,
cotton-weave friendship bracelet and a tan from the long summer.
Charlotte had seen it reach out from the neighbouring room in the
halls of St Hilda’s, Oxford, grab the rugby shirt of an eager freshman
and tug him inside. An indulgent giggle had spiced the air and the
door slammed.
That laugh. Charlotte had stepped inside her own room,
closed the door and put on headphones to be discreet. But it was
impossible not to smile at that laugh.
“Hello. I’m Charlotte Albright.” She put out a hand to
introduce herself in an awkward approximation of how her mother
did.
The woman stared at it, blue eyes sparkling and the corner of
her mouth twitching at Charlotte’s formality.
“Well, Ms Charlotte Albright.” The woman shifted her accent
from relaxed London to an absurd, posh British that belonged in the
1950s. She raised her eyebrows. “Are you called Lottie for short?”
A laugh glittered the edges of every word. Charlotte stared
bemused before she realised the woman was playing with her,
because Charlotte had been more appropriate for meeting a tutor
than another student. Her cheeks roasted and she mentally rolled
her eyes at herself. She was not the most worldly. But she was
amiable and also charmed by bright eyes. The woman really was
pretty.
“People don’t call me Lottie,” Charlotte said.
“Lotte?”
“No?”
“Char?” The woman was almost laughing.
Charlotte giggled, then tried to pretend to be affronted.
“Never.”
“So, Ms Charlotte Albright,” the woman relished the
enunciation of the full name, then dropped into her usual accent,
"fancy a cheese toastie? I’ve got two on the go.”
She pointed a thumb to the sandwich maker that fizzed with
leaking cheese. Without waiting for an answer, she spun away and
cleared food into the fridge, which was too small for the ten
students along the corridor and crammed with pints of milk. The
woman was shorter than Charlotte and curvy. As she leant down,
her bum, accentuated in a pair of tight jeans, made a voluptuous
heart shape in the fridge doorway.
Charlotte stooped, guilty at staring at the curvy bum and
always conscious of her height, a gawky five-foot ten. It was as
though she was half-finished compared with her older sister and
mother, and the comparison was made often. The two of them were
as tall, mother taller, but completed with curves and the confidence
to throw back their broad shoulders. They had lush, straight,
mahogany hair, whereas Charlotte’s tumbled in waves, as if someone
had lost interest and forgotten to brush. Again, the comparison was
made often. As was the observation she hadn’t matriculated at
prestigious Magdalen College, Oxford, like her sister and mother.
“Well, neighbour,” the woman said. “Wanna join me for a
toastie?”
“Love to,” Charlotte said.
She wiped her mouth, fearing she dribbled. The cheese that
leaked from the edges of the toaster had crisped to golden and the
imagined saltiness teased her tongue. She was incapable of hiding
anything, including her enthusiasm.
“Hope you’re all right with Value Cheddar,” the woman said,
slipping one toastie onto a plate. “Some bugger’s got Waitrose in
there.”
“That’s mine!” Charlotte laughed, and her cheeks filled with
heat again.
“Ooooo,” the woman sang. She looked Charlotte up and
down. “Look at you with your fancy cheese.”
“I didn’t buy it,” Charlotte added. “My mother bought me a
basket of food to get me through noughth week.”
“Very nice,” the woman cooed.
She handed Charlotte a plate and they leant on the window
ledge, the woman nudging her shoulder into Charlotte’s
unselfconsciously like she did everything. Beautiful college grounds
filled the view outside. Sun sparkled on tendrils of river, which
meandered over the Oxford plain, and highlighted the tips of trees
around the playing fields in gold. Iconic and ancient buildings
peeked out in every direction.
“My mum couldn’t drop me off,” the woman said after a
mouthful. Her expression wilted a little. “She’s a nurse. Ward sister.
Couldn’t change her shift, not without being unfair to the others. I
wanted her to visit the place.”
A blink later the lull was gone and she snapped her gaze to
Charlotte’s again. “What are you here for anyway?” Then she
laughed. “That sounds like we’re in prison. I meant, what are you
studying? I’m doing Jurisprudence.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s
Oxford for Law.”
Charlotte quickly swallowed her mouthful of toastie and
blurted, “Me too,” accompanied by a crumb.
Oh dear. Her mother would have disapproved of her manners
if she’d been there. But she wasn’t. There was just this sparkling
woman.
Charlotte spluttered, “We could get tutorials together if you
wanted.”
The woman’s eyes pinged wide, “Yeah?” as if she couldn’t
believe Charlotte would offer. “You fancy being tutorial buddies?”
Charlotte nodded, mouth still full, keen to partner with this
effervescent and irreverent woman, who apparently also wanted to
be friends with her – quiet, stumbling Charlotte Albright.
Charlotte cleared her throat and stood straighter, realising the
awkwardness. “Erm, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I’m eating your food, and if we’re going to be tutorial
partners...” She had no idea what her name was. “You still haven’t
introduced yourself.”
The woman’s lips twitched. Charlotte had done it again,
sounding so formal compared with the girl, who swiftly dropped a
half-eaten toastie, brushed the crumbs off her hands and put back
her shoulders.
“Penelope Partridge Pickstock the third. Delighted to meet
you, Ms Charlotte Albright,” she said, returning to posh British.
“No, you’re not,” Charlotte said, giggling.
“I beg your pardon.” The woman was pretending to be
appalled. “I am genuinely thrilled to make your acquaintance.”
“I meant that you’re not called Penelope...Pick...Thingy.”
The woman threw back her head. “No, I’m not.”
She relaxed the pretension and lapsed back into her faint
London accent. “But I could be, Ms Charlotte Albright. This place is
ridiculous.” She knuckled her fists onto her hips, the movement done
in a blink. “Ever noticed the woman in a black suit hanging around
the end of the corridor?”
“No?”
“You will, because she’s the security detail for a princess.”
Charlotte didn’t respond because it was too easy to stare at
this woman.
The woman’s eyes stretched wide and she added, “We live
opposite a real-life princess.” She nodded her head to indicate over
Charlotte’s shoulder and along the corridor.
“Do you mean the girl with long, straight, chestnut hair?”
Charlotte came to at last.
“Yes! Gorgeous hair, with brown eyes and lashes to die for. I
was chatting with her earlier and her family are real-life
Scandinavian royals.”
“Wow,” Charlotte said, impressed on so many levels.
One, there was an actual princess. You heard about that kind
of thing at Oxford, but she didn’t think she’d see it.
Two, how nice it would be to talk about a woman like that,
complimenting her appearance without a twitch of anxiety.
Three, this woman’s confidence. She’d stood in the
kitchenette with an attitude that said she talked to everyone like
this. Charlotte imagined she introduced herself as easily to the
princess. She’d probably offered a cheese toastie. Except that,
Charlotte realised, the woman still hadn’t introduced herself.
As if reading her mind, the woman relaxed her shoulders,
lifted her chin and beamed up at Charlotte, the movement rippling
through her golden curls.
“Millie,” she said. “I’m Millie Banks.”
Chapter 2
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