Becca didn't choose historical romance; it chose her somewhere between her tenth reading of Jane Eyre and her completely rational decision to minor in Literature and Creative Writing at university.

Now in her early-to-mid forties, with reading glasses perpetually perched on her head and an enviable collection of vintage brooches, she's the woman who can tell you the exact difference between Regency and Victorian era courting customs—and will, if you give her half a chance.

The inside of her wagon looks like a miniature museum: antique writing desk (functional, not decorative, thank you very much), shelves lined with historical references and romance novels organized by era, and framed botanical prints that would make any Jane Austen character swoon. There's always music playing softly in the background—Debussy for writing emotional scenes, Vivaldi for action sequences, and dead silence when she's researching 19th-century medical practices because some things require complete concentration.

She writes historical romance because the past offers something the present can't quite capture: restraint that makes every stolen glance an event, propriety that makes every rule-breaking moment delicious, and a world where a simple touch of ungloved hands could constitute a scandal. The tension practically writes itself.

But here's where Becca surprises people—beneath that buttoned-up, historically-accurate exterior beats the heart of someone who writes steamy ballroom encounters and passionate midnight rendezvous with the enthusiasm of a woman who knows exactly what happens when all those corsets finally come off.

Conservative in her convictions? Absolutely.

Conservative in her love scenes? Not even a little bit.

Her deal breakers are historical inaccuracies that could've been fixed with a simple Google search (or better yet, an actual history book), modern slang in period pieces, and anachronistic feminism that ignores the actual constraints and triumphs of women in history. She believes you can write strong heroines without pretending the past didn't exist.

Becca drinks tea—loose leaf, properly steeped, preferably ‘green’, with a slight judgmental raise of her eyebrow if you suggest a tea bag. She collects antique teacups, visits historical estates like other people visit theme parks, and has been known to attend the occasional Regency ball in full costume because research is research, darling.

She writes what she loves because she believes the past still has stories worth telling, and because watching a corseted heroine choose love over propriety never gets old. Every stolen kiss, every whispered declaration, every happily-ever-after earned against the odds—that's the magic she's chasing, one historical romance at a time.