title: Amelia Handegan: Rooms
author: Amelia Handegan
description: "The best Southern houses tell personal stories, and in her beautiful new book,<i>&#160;Rooms</i>, out this week Amelia Handegan shares a few of her own. . . .&#160;In the 223-page volume,&#160;<b>Handegan covers a diverse array of projects, from a North Carolina mountain cabin to a formal historic estate in Virginia to her personal residences on Folly Beach and in downtown Charleston</b>."&#160;<br><i>&mdash;Garden &amp; Gun<br><br></i>"Handegan shares more of her thoughtful insights into creating a beautiful home."&#160;<br><i>&mdash;Architechtural Digest<br><br></i>"Fall must haves."&#160;<br><i>&mdash;La Dolce Vita<br></i><br>"The Charleston-based interior designer Amelia Handegan is as happy to design the rooms of a new home as she is to restore nationally recognized historic houses. Her work is often compared to that of the late Albert Hadley in that she embraces multiple elements and techniques to use in her interiors&mdash;whether that means antiques, painted murals, highly textured fabrics, vintage passementerie, stenciling, or decidedly modern furniture and accessories. Her best projects are featured here, including a quaint beach cottage on Folly Island, South Carolina, a rustic (but luxurious) cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a 1920s Charleston apartment, and her work on Rose Hill, an eighteenth-century Virginian plantation house."<br>&mdash;<i>Milieu Magazine</i>
zlib_text: PRINCE OF CHAOS
  AMELIA WILDE
  
  CONTENTS
  Chapter 1
  Chapter 2
  Chapter 3
  Chapter 4
  Chapter 5
  Chapter 6
  Chapter 7
  Chapter 8
  Chapter 9
  Chapter 10
  Connect with Amelia
  Also by Amelia Wilde
  
  1
  Persephone
  My mother’s cough rattles the house—the wood and the windowpanes and the floor beneath my feet.
  The stairs do nothing to conceal the sound. I feel it in the center of my own chest, even one floor
  removed. Am I getting whatever she has?
  No. Probably not. It’s only cabin fever that makes my face look flushed in the shimmering reflection in
  the window above the kitchen sink. In mid afternoon, with the sun fighting its way through the clouds,
  I’m barely there. Pink cheeks. The line of my nose. White dress, always white. For a moment the
  fabric presses in tight against my skin, too tight, hemming me in the way the house does. The way she
  does. But I shake it off. What’s the alternative? I could go crazy with it, but I’d still be inside.
  Here.
  November has just turned into December, bringing a cold w