"No, but the warnings establish that he had reasons to investigate." James closed the book and requested written statements from Thomas and Peter, instructing them to describe only what they had personally seen or reported.
That evening, Emma found him waiting outside the forge as her father finished shaping a horseshoe. James had come without a carriage, having walked from the nearby estate gate.
"I thought you might appreciate an escort home," he said.
Emma raised an eyebrow. "From my own workshop?"
He smiled. "A poorly considered offer."
"Not entirely."
She removed her apron and joined him beneath the eaves. They walked along the village lane as the rain diminished to a fine mist. For several minutes, neither spoke.
"My brother would have liked you," James said at last.
Emma glanced at him. "You cannot know that."
"No," he admitted. "But he admired people who knew their work and refused to flatter him."
She smiled faintly. "Then perhaps we would have argued."
"Almost certainly." His laughter faded. "I miss him most when something happens that I cannot tell him about."
Emma slowed. "My mother died when I was seventeen. Sometimes I still turn toward the doorway when I finish something difficult, expecting her to be there."
James stopped beside the low stone wall. He did not reach for her immediately. "Does it become easier?"
"Not always. But the good memories stop feeling like accusations."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he offered his hand. Emma took it, and they continued toward the forge together.
At the stable office the following morning, however, a different conversation was beginning. Captain Vale stood before James's desk, his expression carefully controlled.
"Your Grace, I understand you have been questioning the men about my conduct."
James set down his pen. "I am establishing what happened."