Chapter Seven
The morning sun could not have risen more splendidly. Spring was at its peak and the gentle breeze that drifted up from the Deep South filled the air with the warm fertile smell of earth and living things. Tulips and daffodils waved in that warm wind. Lilac blossoms exploded on heavily laden branches. Into all this Lucretia stepped, still clad in her black mourning veil. The dark blue gown was now draped with a single, sheer layer of black netting. On her hands were black lace gloves and she carried a bouquet of the same spring flowers that decorated the yard and gardens of Greenbrier Plantation.
As her feet moved her closer and closer to where Beau stood waiting, a wave of dread and terror flooded her so completely she froze in her tracks. Black. Everyone was dressed in bl
