People often ask me: Why historical romance?

I could give you the tidy answer… that I love history, that I adore romance, and that blending the two feels as natural as breathing. All true. But the honest answer? Because the past is brimming with secrets, and I cannot resist eavesdropping.

History is full of facts, yes, but it also leaves delicious gaps. No one recorded what the Earl whispered to his beloved as they waltzed across a candlelit floor. No one scribbled down the words a young widow muttered when she decided to risk her reputation for happiness. The official records tell us who inherited what, who married whom, but they are silent on the beating hearts behind those names. That’s where I step in.

Romance lets me fill those silences with possibility. What if a dutiful gentleman found himself captivated by the one woman he ought not pursue? What if a lady known for obedience decided to disobey — for love? What if two people, bound by expectation, dared to want more?

I’ve always loved research. Give me dusty ledgers, odd inheritance laws, even recipes for lemon syllabub. I’ll devour them all. But what thrills me most is sliding a spark of romance into those details. A glimpse across a ballroom. Fingers brushing as a letter changes hands. A conversation so charged that neither dares to breathe too loudly. These are the moments that turn history into story.

And why romance above all else? Because I believe in hope. A romance novel promises that, however tangled the journey, however impossible the odds, love will win. We all need that promise. I know I do.

So yes, I write historical romance because I love gowns and carriages, ballrooms and scandal sheets. But I also write it because love is timeless, and because the whispers of the past deserve their happy endings too.

 

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