Quiet Comforts in Knightsbridge : London’s new Franklin Hotel stands out in a residential neighborhood not far from Harrods.

More often it is the centuries-old hotels of England that grab at my heart: the coaching inns whose oaken floors sag and tilt, the country lodges with thick ceiling beams, ancient stone hearths and creaking, iron-studded doors through which kings--or at least Shakespeare--once strode.

But now I have fallen for a newcomer, a quiet townhouse hotel named the Franklin that opened just last June in London’s Knightsbridge district.

To my knowledge, no royal has stayed there, nor has a rock star. The reception room is far too small to handle paparazzi . I heard about the place from an English friend who lives in the neighborhood.

The Franklin Hotel is easy to miss, there on a curve of a residential street called Egerton Gardens (the Brits say EDGE-erton). The entrance is discreet. The sign is minuscule. My taxi from Victoria Station circled twice.

Besides, the hotel is flanked by other handsome red-brick houses with window boxes, wrought-iron balconies and trim white steps. Bicycles and prams confidently cross the narrow street in mid-block. You’d never guess the proximity to Harrods and the bustle of Brompton Road.

Three derelict townhouses were gutted and rebuilt into 40 guest rooms and suites, I learned from Geraldine Thorne, the head housekeeper who showed me to my room. (In an earlier life, the place served as a backpackers’ hostel, I learned from a guest who had camped there once--”for less money,” he said with a smile as we shared the small elevator, “and with considerably less comfort.”)

My room was No. 10, a bright, high-ceilinged chamber with French doors that opened onto a block-long, crescent-shaped garden guarded by immense plane trees. The air was fresh and cool. Birds sang as if they had an audience.

As I stared out on that Saturday afternoon, two youngsters came toddling down the garden path, followed by an older sister--or a trendy nanny--in red tights and a giant gray wool sweater. They disappeared in a game of hide-and-seek behind the gnarled tree trunks. No one else appeared in the secluded green space, which, like many London gardens, remains locked except to residents of adjoining buildings.

Happily, Room 10 was not a victim of the theatrical decor that stalks some new hotels, nor was it overflowing with Laura Ashley flounce. Pale mint-green wallpaper met cream-colored drapes, patterned with white roses. A small desk faced the park-like garden, as did a king-size bed.

But no two rooms are alike at the Franklin: Some have four-poster beds; Room 23 has a canopied bed done in Scottish red tartan; Room 44--on the top floor--has dormer windows and window seats.

The hotel offers 24-hour room service, I discovered on the night of my arrival when I was hungry for an omelet after theater but too sleepy to go out for dinner. The owners decided against a public restaurant because so many enticing choices are located within a five-minute walk--including Turners on Walton Street, for English fare, and the new French success Bibendum, in the landmark Michelin Tire building on Fulham Road.

Though its address is in Knightsbridge, the Franklin is as close--or a little closer--to the South Kensington tube station as it is to the Knightsbridge station across from Harrods.

Despite such urban comforts, I have no intention of giving up on England’s half-timbered 17th-Century inns--such as The Feathers in Ludlow--or 16th-Century thatched beauties, such as the Bay Tree in Burford. The perfume of peat fires and old climber roses is too alluring.

If one must stay in the real world, however, the Franklin does cushion the shock.

If you go: Franklin Hotel, 24 Egerton Gardens, Knightsbridge, London SW3 2DB, telephone from the United States, 011-44-71-584- 5533, fax 011-44-71-584-5449. Double rooms about $210 per night, suites $325.