***This scene takes place during "Reunion."***

 "My dearest Kate, I have so many questions for you," said the red-headed girl sitting beside Trinket's brother.

Booker's eyes darted to Trinket, noticing how her face just barely paled at her future sister-in-law's declaration. He instinctively reached out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

It seemed to help. She attempted a smile and set down her teacup. "Oh, really? Well, I'd be more than—"

"But not here," Rae said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Somewhere with a bit more privacy."

"Darling, we're all practically family here," Merrill spoke up. "I'm sure you can speak freely in our company."

Ignoring her betrothed, Rae rose from her seat and hooked her arm with Trinket's, pulling her up from her chair. "I have questions regarding marital bliss, my love," she said to him, raising her eyebrows. "It would be improper to make queries of such a sensitive nature in front of two gentlemen."

Trinket's eyes widened slightly as she looked at Booker. He offered her a sympathetic smile but did not move to intercede. She seemed more surprised than worried. Besides, he guessed that Rae simply wanted an opportunity to verify that Trinket had voluntarily entered into a marriage with him. After all, he was a complete stranger who had somehow managed to whisk away her fiancé's younger sister in a matter of months. Of course she'd be suspicious.

Chuckling to himself, Booker took a sip from his teacup, his gaze flickering to Merrill. His blood ran cold as he frowned against the rim, realizing he would now be required to make small talk with this spineless excuse for a man.

There was certainly a family resemblance between the brother and sister. Blonde hair and fair complexions, though his hair was a shade darker than Trinket's. His eyes shared a similar shape to his sister's, and much like her, he sported a willowy sort of figure that suited him quite well. Trinket had been right in describing him as soft. He had a gentle, warm air about him.

Alas, despite the similarities between the siblings, Booker found that his feelings towards them couldn't have been more different. One he loved, the other . . . well, "hated" seemed a strong word. Despised? Still a tad harsh, but close enough.

Merrill cleared his throat and flashed him a quick smile. "So, Mr. Larkin, you're a doctor?"

"I believe that fact has been firmly established," Booker said, taking another sip of tea.

"Right, right, of course. I just, I haven't had the privilege of being in the company of any doctors. Well, our family's physician, but—"

"You must be wary of whose advice you seek within the medical community, Mr. Seymour. There are far too many charlatans and quacks out there masquerading as educated professionals. Not only do they make a poor name for the rest of us, but they inflict all sorts of unnecessary harm upon the ailing."

Merrill drew back, blinking in surprise. "I see. Well, that's most unfortunate. But I'd like to hope that those my family has had dealings with are of an upright character."

"I wouldn't rest the well-being of my loved ones on hopes, sir. That is careless and lazy."

Furrowing his brow, Merrill glanced about the kitchen. Trinket and Rae were still in the other room, and Ottie had slipped away to another part of the house. It was just the two of them.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Larkin," Merrill said, lowering his voice and slipping into a chair closer to Booker, "but have I offended you in some way?"

"Offended? Mr. Seymour, it takes quite a bit of work to offend the likes of me. Ask your sister. She's well-acquainted with my disregard for manners and propriety."

"Then why do I detect an undertone of reproach in your speech?"

Setting his cup down, Booker kept his eyes on the table. "There is a great difference between offense and reproach, Mr. Seymour."

"We're practically brothers, Mr. Larkin. Do you think we could perhaps drop the formalities?"

Booker set his jaw and lifted his gaze to meet Merrill's. "Brothers? I'd sooner call a bone saw a butter knife."

Merrill shook his head slowly. "Call a what a—"

"I think we'd best continue in silence until Trinket and your betrothed return."

"Who?"

"Rae, your soon-to-be-wife."

"No, who is Trinket?"

"Your sister."

"Why did you call her Trinket?"

"Because it's her name."

"Since when is it her name?"

"Since the night she came to my home and was too ashamed and terrified to own up to her given name. And considering the sad condition I found her in, I can't say I blame her."

Taking a sharp breath, Merrill sat up straight and squared his shoulders. His eyes darted to the closed door where Trinket and Rae were chatting privately. Returning his attention to Booker, he leaned in closer.

"Her sad condition?"

Booker scoffed. Unbelievable. Did he know nothing of what had become of his beloved sister after his parents had sent her away? Had he made no effort to find out?

"You were not the only one who suffered that night," Booker finally said, clenching his hands into fists. "Your sister has been through hell and back thanks to your family's ignorance."

Merrill hesitated. "What happened to her?"

"It's really not my story to tell."

Leaning back in his chair, Merrill drummed his fingers against the table and stared down at his empty cup. "I was unable to do anything about it. I'd been stabbed numerous times. My life was in danger."

"And what about after? You seem to be in good health now. I doubt this is a recent change in your condition. Surely you were well enough to inquire after her long before this moment."

"You don't kno—"

"Actually, I do know, but I'm giving you the opportunity to tell me yourself."

Merrill narrowed his eyes, but Booker refused to back down. He was tired of seeing the woman he loved believe she wasn't worthy of this lily-livered fop's forgiveness. As brilliant and capable as she was and surely had always been, at the time of her confinement, she had been utterly powerless and at the mercy of a misinformed and proud upper-class family. If anyone was a victim of that tragic night, it was her.

Finally taking a deep breath, Merrill turned away from Booker's cold stare. "I wanted to know. I wanted to know where she was, if she was safe, if she was . . ." His voice hitched, and he swallowed hard. "If she was still alive."

"Then why didn't you make an effort?"

"I tried. I did. But every time I brought the subject up to my parents, they'd refuse to tell me anything. Even just mentioning Kate's name sent my mother into a terrible frame of mind. It was impossible."

"You seem like an educated and connected fellow. Why didn't you search for her on your own?"

His cheeks reddened. "I thought about it. But when rumors of the incident began to trickle into the public, things became more complicated. Rae's parents distanced themselves from us, saying they were uncomfortable with the idea of their daughter marrying into a family with so much scandal surrounding it. It took more than a year to convince them otherwise. And once our engagement was secured, I was afraid to jeopardize it by digging up ghosts from the past."

Booker tensed at this confession. All those months Trinket had spent in Elysium. All the abuse, all the treatments. And for what? So her cowardly brother's love life would not be disturbed?

"Once we were married, I was going to start searching for her," Merrill added quickly. "I was determined to find her once everything was settled. I just . . ."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a long sigh. He clearly knew that his actions had been selfish and deplorable. There was really no way of justifying himself.

"Do you know where they send those deemed mad?" Booker asked.

Merrill did not respond but stared down at the table.

"The types of treatments inflicted upon them?"

Still, more silence.

Sitting back in his chair, Booker released a long breath. "Your sister's story is not mine to tell. But I can assure you, the scars she bears from her time spent in the asylum are not just physical. The number of times I've woken to cries of terror only to find her lost in a nightmare of memories—it's heartbreaking. She's haunted by all that her tormentors did to her. You'd never know it, though. She hides her demons like no one else. I suppose she's had a lifetime of practice."

Dropping his head into his hands, Merrill heaved a sigh. His lips trembled, and he seemed to be blinking back tears.

Booker frowned. While he despised this man's selfish cowardice, he couldn't accuse him of being unfeeling or callous. Merrill truly loved his sister. Had it been his decision, he clearly would never have sent her away. He would've done all in his power to help her. Yes, he'd made a mistake in letting her suffer so that he could play house. But it hadn't been done with malicious intent. No, Merrill Seymour obviously didn't have a cruel bone in his body. He was just a vapid little upper-class fop.

An upper-class fop whom Trinket loved and adored.

"I'm sure you would have sought her out," Booker said stiffly. "Eventually. From the way Trinket speaks of you, I highly doubt you would have been content to let the memory of her fade into oblivion."

Merrill lifted his head, his eyes wide with surprise, looking more like a boy than a man on the cusp of marriage.

Booker gave a soft laugh and leaned towards him, attempting a more friendly stance. "See, this is why I don't often converse with the general public without your sister around to rein in my tongue. I am sorely lacking in manners and decorum. Believe it or not, I was far worse before she came into my life."

A smile twitched across Merrill's lips.

"While I still have a difficult time understanding your lack of action regarding her, I suppose the past is best left in the past. Besides, as you said before, by law we're family. Whether I like it or not."

He flashed a teasing grin, and Merrill returned it with a chuckle. "Yes, well, you've made some good points, I'll admit. And your words would not have had such an effect if I hadn't already been harbouring guilt over my decisions. But I fully intend on making it up to her. Starting with an apology for failing to protect her."

Booker's heart softened at the firm determination in his brother-in-law's expression. "I doubt she'd accept an apology, knowing her own tendency towards harbouring guilt. But I'd say the gesture would be appreciated."

Merrill fidgeted with his teacup and glanced up at Booker warily. "You're a rather odd fellow, Mr. Larkin. But if my sister sees something in you, I guess I'll have to trust her judgement."

With a self-satisfied smirk, Booker raised his cup to him. "The feeling is mutual, Mr. Seymour."