When Nora considered the situation, she could only feel inordinately pleased with herself. Because of her tonic, Charlotte was blissfully in love and happily married and mother to a healthy child. Perhaps it was bigheaded of her, but she could not help herself. Wrong or right, she was proud of herself—or rather, proud of her tonic. Even if she didn’t know what to do with it now. She couldn’t very well go about dosing people with an aphrodisiac, after all.

Still, her talents had never brought about such marvelous results before. As far as she knew she had helped people through their ailments, but saved no lives. It made her feel warm inside to know she had played a role in bringing about Charlotte and Kingston’s happy union . . . and the life of her niece. She felt giddy at the knowledge.

Nora stood back and carefully evaluated the three trees, noting the areas where she had harvested bark before. Biting her lip, she worried the tender flesh just as she worried over permanently damaging the trees. Papa had warned her against foraging too forcefully. She could cripple the tree and that would not be the thing at all.

She continued to appraise the three trees, marking the lighter skinned patches where bark had been removed from the trunks in previous years. “Well,” she announced to herself. She was guilty of talking to herself whilst she worked. “It must be done.” But done right.

The only right way was to climb high up the tree to collect bark off some of the upper branches that had been spared of earlier foraging. It was much wiser to cut bark from one of the branches rather than the trunk.

She adjusted the strap of her satchel across her chest and hiked up her skirts, tucking the front hem into the belt at her waist. Thankfully, she’d spent a girlhood climbing trees all over the shire. Even though it had been some time since she had done so, it felt a familiar task.

She searched and found a handhold and hefted herself up, her boots slipping and scuffling until they gained a foothold. Grunting, she scaled the trunk until she reached the first outcropping of branches, wishing she had worn her gloves. Her palms were stinging.

She steadied her weight, wedging her boots in the V of branches. She purposefully did not look down. Not that she was scared of heights. It just seemed sensible to avoid doing so. Intent on her task, she crawled out onto one of the sturdier branches. Carefully balancing her weight, she squeezed her thighs around the branch and inched out as far as she dared, determined to collect bark far from areas she had already harvested.

Pausing, she fumbled inside her satchel for her small paring knife.