Rose Larkin paused with her teacup halfway to her lips, sure she hadn't heard her aunt, Kathleen Flanagan, correctly.

Her father, Edward O'Malley Larkin, had just been laid to rest in New York City's Irish cemetery, amid a host of other dead immigrant Irishmen. Rose had been trying all day not to cry, with varying degrees of success.

Now she sat in her father's parlor, sipping tea with Aunt Kate, and wishing all the guests at the wake would go home so she could break down in peace. She stared at Kate, befuddled, tears and sorrow forgotten for the nonce.

Kate, her color heightened considerably, said in a stage whisper, "I mean it, Rose. You're too high-spirited a girl to marry some stuffy fellow and fade into the wallpaper."

Although sixty-five years old, Kate was still a very pretty woman, probably because she'd always had plenty of money. Rose had noticed more than once that money was an important commodity if one hoped to keep a firm grip on one's health and beauty. She never said so to Kate, but she feared she wouldn't be as fortunate as her aunt--unless, of course, she married some stuffy fellow and faded into the wallpaper.

Personally, Rose had nothing against tasteful wallpaper. Stuffiness, if accompanied by security, would be far preferable to the haphazard life she'd lived with her father.

She cleared her throat, took a sip of tea, and peeked at the guests. One of them was Guy Foskett, who was as stuffy, secure, and rich as any man of Rose's acquaintance. He'd also been paying attentions to her recently. At present he was pontificating in a corner with the priest who had performed the funeral service. Rose looked back at Kate, and said, "Um . . . I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Kate."

"Yes you do," Kate said with unusual force, for her. "You understand exactly what I mean. You're your father's daughter, after all."

Undeniable, although Rose wasn't sure what it had to do with anything. She frowned slightly. She'd loved her father dearly, but she wasn't sure she wanted to be like him. He'd embraced life, women, and horses, and had gambled away most of the money he'd ever made. In the end he'd left Rose nothing but a pile of debts, a salable house, and a heart-load of grief.

Even the manner of his death had been interesting. He'd bought a high-spirited horse--no surprise there--which had then stumbled and fallen over onto him, crushing the life out of him. Since he'd been a spectacular horseman, that last part had come as an almost staggering surprise.

Rose was now faced with selling everything she'd ever owned in order to settle her father's debts--and with marrying Guy Foskett if he ever asked her. Guy was probably the dullest man on the face of the earth. But nice. He was very nice.

She sighed.

"Um, what does my being my father's daughter have to do with anything?"

Kate put her teacup down in its saucer and put a small, black-gloved hand on Rose black sleeve. "Everything. You have your entire life ahead of you. Rose, you mustn't make the mistake I made. You mustn't."

Rose was appalled to see tears standing in her dear aunt's eyes. "Mistake? What mistake?"

Leaning over and whispering, her expression intense, Kate said, "The mistake of marrying before you've had some adventures."

Adventures? Rose blinked. She couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Not that I didn't love my Glen with all my heart," Kate continued. "But I never lived, dear. I don't want that to happen to you."

Rose continued speechless.

That didn't matter to Kate, who was on a roll. "I know your father left you poorly off, dear, but I've got lots of money."

Rose nodded because it was true. She still couldn't think of anything to say.

"And I intend to use some of it on you."

"You do?" Rose set her own teacup in its saucer, being very careful because her hand had started trembling. She wondered if her sweet aunt, who had always been a tiny bit eccentric, had finally passed some invisible barrier and stumbled into madness.

"But you've always used it on me, Aunt Kate," Rose said with some embarrassment.

"Nonsense, dear. That was only because your father was--well, not all that stable."

How very, unfortunately, true. "Still, Kate, I don't think you should do any more for me. You've already done too much."

Kate nodded with vigor and purpose. "Nonsense. What else do I have to do with my money?"

Rose could probably come up with several hundred things, but she was too stunned to think of them at the moment. "But . . ."

"No. I'm not willing to see you dwindle into a stuffy, bored housewife who does nothing but cater to her husband's whims while he's off living life and probably bedding other men's wives." Kate lifted her chin, defiant in the face of her niece's shock.

Rose opened her mouth, couldn't find a word in it to save her soul, and shut it again.

"Therefore," Kate went on, her words gathering momentum although her volume never rose, "I intend to see you live, Rose Margaret Larkin. We've spoken before about a profession for you should you decide you can't abide marrying Guy--" She shot a glance in Guy's direction, obviously fearing she might have been overheard. She hadn't been. Guy remained engrossed in listening to himself speak.

Rose nodded, since that, too, was the truth.

"Well, then, I have the perfect career for you! And I plan to see that you achieve it."

"You do? That is--you will?" Rose folded her hands in her lap, unable to think of anything else to do with herself. She did dart a glance around the room, in search of someone who might come to her aid should Kate suddenly become violent.

"Yes. I do and I shall." Kate picked up her teacup, sipped, and set it down again with a clink. "I think you should become an ad-vumph-drumph."

Her hand had risen to cover her mouth on the last word, and Rose didn't hear it. "Ahem. I beg your pardon?"

Kate took a deep breath, expanding her bosom to an almost bodice-shattering degree. "I believe," she said distinctly, "in honor of your father, your Irish heritage, and me--" She smiled sweetly, to let Rose know she didn't really mean the last part. "--that you should set your sights upon being an ad-vumph-drumph." Again her hand covered her mouth, extinguishing the last word.

Rose licked her lips and tried again. "Um, I didn't hear you, Kate."

Kate expelled a huff of exasperation. "I said," she said, "that before you settle down into a life of boredom and tedium, as I did, you should become an adventuress." Her cheeks bloomed pink.

Rose heard her that time. She just didn't believe her ears.