GOD SAVE THE Queen Anne

...and other historic neighborhood beauties, advises designer Markham Roberts, who wrote the rules of rescue and restraint in updating them for modern families.

- MARKHAM ROBERTS

I FIRST NOTICED THIS MAGNIFICENT WHITE HOUSE on a hill during a weekend away from college. I was staying at a friend's house in Greenwich, Connecticut, and I recall that something set it apart from the others. At the time, I didn't know what, and only realized much later as an adult, when I began working on it, that what distinguished the three-story Queen Anne shingle-style house was that it hadn't been destroyed in what I laughingly refer to as an "awful renovation accident" during any of the decades since its late 19th-century heyday.

No one ever came and added floodlights to the exterior to amp things up like an airport. No one dotted every square inch of ceiling with hideous recessed lights that look like rotisserie chicken heat lamps. No one added giant sports bar TVs in every last room or ripped out the original detailing to put up new spray-finished mahogany paneling.

And mercifully, no addition was put on to make way for a not-so-Great Room. For these things I was thankful.

This house had an old soul. It felt happy and quirky and uncontrived.

Yes, we would have to improve things to make it work for today. For instance, having a rabbit warren of servants' rooms isn't ideal for a modern family who likes to cook; a scary old cellar isn't great for four children who need space to play. But the entertaining rooms were perfection, and all they needed was refurbishing the floors and stripping off years of paint to reveal the architectural beauty sleeping underneath.