“Frivolous?” Lia crossed her arms. “Well then, I suppose that there is no need for me to exhibit the paintings I found in Grandmère’s apartment either.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. And it won’t work. The art that came out of that Paris apartment and what I create—it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t that rather the point? That each piece is different? That each work instills and evokes different emotions depending on the individual who gazes upon it?”

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

“No. I’m being honest. To call what you’ve done here a hobby is doing yourself a great disservice.”

“On the contrary, I do myself a very great service by recognizing my limitations. Which is far more than I can say for the generations who have come before me.”

“What does that mean?”

“My great-grandfather, my grandfather, even my father, have all spent extraordinary amounts of time and money chasing the impossible dream of achieving fame and fortune from their art. And for their efforts, they were rewarded with nothing but disappointment and rejection. Had our family not been lucky enough to own vast tracts of productive land and a manor that could be turned into a business, and had our family not been fortunate to have practical, intelligent females who saw to business and ensured their menfolk did not bankrupt them in the pursuit of an impossible dream, things might be very different right now.”

“I don’t think that your forefathers had the talent you do,” Lia murmured, thinking of the hopeful little landscape that had ultimately brought her here.

“You’re not listening to me. Talent is only part of the equation, and even then, it is a fickle and capricious creature, subject to whims and luck. It cannot be relied on. So, yes, while I seem to have inherited a love of art, I have not inherited the mistaken notion that it is enough. I married that love to common sense and the knowledge that whatever skill I possess can be used for a far better purpose.”

“That sounds very…practical.” And not a word that had any place amongst the emotion and brilliance of the canvases that surrounded her.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. The men in my family have long been considered hopeless romantics, indulged by their families. I have no interest in being indulged.”

“And you think I’m expressing admiration to indulge you?”

“Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, and my ego thanks you. But I have found my niche within my chosen field, and there I have realized immense satisfaction and happiness.”

Lia turned back to the two dancers and ran her finger lightly along the bottom lip of the easel. “Sell me this painting.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m asking to buy this painting.”

“I don’t sell my paintings.”

“Fine. Let’s trade, then.”

“I—what?”