Emma grinned. James smiled, then fell quiet as he watched father and daughter work together. Henry had once invited him to the stables almost every morning; James had usually declined, preferring the estate books and the reassuring order of figures that could be made to balance. He wondered how many ordinary afternoons he had lost by believing there would always be another.
Emma noticed his expression when she set down the hammer. "Is something wrong?"
"No." He looked toward the fire. "I was remembering my brother."
She waited without pressing him.
"Henry loved this sort of work," James continued. "Not forging, exactly, but making things useful. He could spend an entire afternoon repairing a broken gate while everyone else waited for him to attend dinner."
"He sounds like a man who knew what pleased him."
"He did." James rubbed his thumb along the seam of his glove. "I often thought he was wasting his time."
Emma lowered her eyes to the cooling horseshoe. "My father says time spent doing something worthwhile is rarely wasted."
James gave a small, painful smile. "Your father sounds considerably wiser than I was."
"That seems a harsh judgment upon a man I've only just begun to know."
He looked at her, and for a moment, the hammering from the neighboring workshop seemed very far away. "You are kind, Miss Carter."
"Not always. Ask my father what happens when he misplaces my good tongs."
Samuel laughed from beside the fire. Their conversation ended there, but James carried its warmth with him long after he returned to Ashford Hall.
Over the following fortnight, the visits settled into a quiet rhythm. Mr. Bell found that Storm's visible irritation was gradually subsiding, though he continued to forbid riding until the horse could be examined without discomfort. Emma recorded his progress while Thomas handled the daily care, and James began joining them whenever his estate duties allowed.
One rainy afternoon, Emma found him in the stable office, examining Storm's training book. A fire crackled in the small grate.
"Anything useful?" she asked.
James turned the book toward her. "Perhaps. The entries show that his resistance began several months ago, but there are gaps where I expected to find reports of his condition."
Emma leaned closer, careful not to disturb the papers. "Could the missing entries simply mean nothing unusual happened?"
"Possibly." He traced one date with his finger. "But Thomas remembers reporting discomfort during this period."