#Bed And Breakfast in Nottinghamshire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imjustthemechanic · 7 years ago

Photo

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up Part 16/? - Just Passing Through Part 17/? - Dinner with Druids Part 18/? - Kracness Henge Part 19/? - A Task Interrupted Part 20/? - The Red Death Part 21/? - Aphelion Part 22/? - The Stone Giants Part 23/? - Nat the Giant Killer Part 24/? - An Interrogation Part 25/? - Guilt Part 26/? - Rushman’s Brilliant Idea Part 27/? - Hunter in Hiding Part 28/? - Ridiculous Part 29/? - The Guy from Barton Part 30/? - Sherwood Forest Part 31/? - Buckeye’s Fall Part 32/? - Robin Hood Part 33/? - Fantasies and Consequences

Sir Stephen explains what’s going on to Robin Hood, and Natasha and Allen actually kind of bond a little.

They found a Bed and Breakfast in the town, and while Nat distracted the middle-aged couple who ran it, Sam and Allen helped Robin Hood up the stairs to the room. When Nat joined them, she found Robin out of his jacket and tunic but still in handcuffs, lying on his side on the bed. Without the clothing, Nat could see another of ivory pendants, hanging on a leather cord around his neck. Sam had gotten the arrowhead out of Robin’s side, and was now cleaning the wound with peroxide from the room’s first aid kit. Allen was holding the kit and handing Sam things when he asked for them, which Natasha suspected was not the most efficient thing to do but might be helping to assuage his guilt.

“If you guys are the ones who tried to kill me in the first place, why are you patching me up?” Robin asked. “Is Nottingham’s bounty that much more for me alive?”

“Would you believe we’re doing it out of the goodness of our hearts?” asked Nat.

“Not when you’re the ones who hurt me,” Robin repeated. “You said you hit me – who stabbed me?”

“That was me,” said Allen, raising a sheepish hand.

“And I’m trying to sew you up,” said Sam. “So stop moving, or I’m gonna end up stabbing you again.”

“Doctors are supposed to get you drunk before they go sawing things off you,” Robin complained. “That stuff I found stashed in the woods doesn’t count. My grandmother’s cider is stronger.”

Natasha cocked her head and considered the situation. Robin was lying on a brightly patterned comforter on a soft bed in a room that was lit without fire and decorated in a style that would have been considered palatial in the twelfth century. In movies, time travellers always seemed astonished by the future, pointing at and questioning every little thing, or blaming it on witchcraft. When Sir Stephen had taken it all in stride, her first instinct had been to think he was subconsciously remembering that these things were normal and harmless. That had turned out to not be true, but now she wondered if it were true of Robin Hood. Was he recalling his modern alter ego?

“Where do you think you are?” she asked him.

Robin winced as Sam stuck the needle into him again. “Hell if I know,” he said. “Somebody’s manor. Anyone who has the money for a place like this doesn’t need the bounty from turning me in.”

“And how do you think you got here?” asked Nat.

“In your fancy little wagon out there,” said Robin. “Is that a trick question?”

“Doesn’t any of this seem just a little weird to you?” she wanted to know.

He sat up a little to look around the room, but it didn’t last long as Sam pushed him back into a reclining position.

“Stop moving,” Sam repeated.

Robin sighed. “If you’re trying to impress me, I’m impressed,” he said. “I don’t know where I am or what half this stuff is. I’m not gonna worry about it right now, because I’m too busy worrying about how long I’ve got before you throw me off a chair with a rope around my neck. Okay?”

That, Nat supposed, was fair.

By the time Sam had finished with Robin’s arrow wound, Sir Stephen and Sharon had arrived. They’d stopped for pizza and more first aid supplies, and as they walked in, Robin looked up from watching Sam put bandages on him, and breathed in deeply.

“That smells great, whatever it is,” he said, his eyes going directly to the pizza boxes Sir Stephen was carrying. “I’m betting I don’t get any.”

“That depends,” said Nat. “We’re gonna have to un-cuff you so you can eat it. Do you promise you won’t attack anybody again?” They’d left his bow and arrows in the car, but he’d demonstrated that he was a respectable hand-to-hand fighter, too.

“For something that smells like that I’ll lick it off the floor if I have to,” said Robin. “I’ve been living off my own cooking for six months.”

Nat wanted to note that nowhere in there had he promised what she’d asked, but when Sharon unlocked the handcuffs the only thing Robin fell upon was the pizza. Sir Stephen handed him a slice, gooey with mozzarella, and Robin bit half of it off in one go, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tasted it.

“Oh, wow,” he said. “This must have cost a fortune. I’ve changed my mind. Go ahead and hang me. It’ll be worth it to have tasted this.”

“We’re not going to have you hanged,” said Nat.

“Then what are you going to do with me?” he asked. “You know, if you’d just told me to begin with, you might not have had to stab me. Just a thought.”

“You weren’t listening to us long enough to let us,” Nat told him. That did offer a bit of an interesting dilemma, though. How were they going to break it to him? With Sir Stephen she’d just told him outright that he didn’t exist, but that hadn’t gone well. What would be better? “Can I ask you another question – what year is it?”

Robin frowned. “What year?” he asked. “Is it supposed to have a name?”

“No, a number, counted from the birth of Christ” said Nat. “Like, King Richard was crowned in 1189.”

He shrugged. “I’m not a chronicler. I don’t keep track.”

Annoyed as she was, Nat couldn’t fault him for historical inaccuracy. Throughout the middle ages it was unlikely that most people had any idea what year it was, or would have any need to.

“Let me try something,” said Sharon. She’d brought up a news article on her phone, from a local Nottinghamshire website, and enlarged the photograph with it to show Robin. The picture showed Mrs. Francis addressing a crowd at the church of St. George, with her sister and children around her. The accompanying text described her quest for attention for the case.

“Do you know this woman,” asked Sharon, but Robin’s eyes had already widened in recognition. He swallowed his mouthful of pizza and snatched the phone, then blinked in surprise when he touched the screen and the image vanished.

“Get it back,” he said, pushing the phone back at Sharon.

“Who is she?” asked Sharon. She pulled the image up again.

“That’s Marian!” Robin said. “Why is she wearing trousers?”

“She’s looking for you,” said Sharon. “But this woman isn’t Maid Marian, and you’re not Robin Hood. Just let us explain,” she added, when Robin opened his mouth again to protest.

“Allow me,” said Sir Stephen. He’d been munching eagerly on pizza too, but now he put down the box and pulled up a chair to sit facing Robin. “I am perhaps the best to tell you. My name is Sir Stephen of Rogsey. Do you know it?”

Robin shook his head.

“I would have died a hundred years before your time,” Sir Stephen said, “but this is not your time, nor mine. Many centuries have passed since then. We are in search of the Holy Grail, which we are told has the power to create things that ought not to exist, so long as somebody believes in them.

It created myself, according to Natalie, who says I am but a legend brought to life.”

“It created me, too,” said Allen quietly. “She made me up, because her real father abandoned her.”

“It seems to have created you, as well,” Sir Stephen went on, “but not in quite the same way. May I show him the fragments, Natalie?”

Nat handed the over, and Sir Stephen explained to Robin Hood what the fragments were for and what seemed to have become of the missing Mr. Francis. Robin seemed first cynical, but he kept glancing at the picture still showing on Sharon’s phone, and his expression became thoughtful, then worried.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Just a second. You’re saying that there’s another version of me who’s married to Marian or whatever her name is, has two kids and my own house and my own land and no price on my head and I… I just wished all that away to go live in the woods like a stray dog?” He shook his head, uncomprehending. “Why would anybody do that?”

“You were upset about some stuff,” said Nat. “You’d had some bad experiences in the army, and you’d gone partially deaf.”

“If an angel appeared to me and told me I could have all that in exchange for my ears I would cut them off!” Robin protested. “I don’t… I’ve never owned anything in my life! I’d certainly never be allowed to marry Marian. I mean, my parents were servants in her father’s castle. The reason I had to leave was because her jerk uncle thought she liked me too much and it would ruin her prospects. There’s no way… is that allowed in your world, or… your time, or whatever this is?”

“Nobles marrying commoners? Happens all the time,” Nat said. “Even kings do it.”

“I don’t… this is ridiculous,” Robin rubbed his forehead. “None of this makes sense. I want to see her. If I hear it from Marian,” he started to get up, “then I can… ow!” Robin sat down again as his side twinged.

“Sorry,” Allen said again.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Sam suggested. “You’ve got some torn muscles there and if you’ve been living out in the woods for any length of time, some hot water and a good night’s sleep will do you wonders.”

Robin looked up again, almost as eagerly as he had when Sharon and Sir Stephen brought the pizza in. “You’ve got hot water?”

Robin Hood took a very long shower, singing to himself for most of it and stamping his feet in the hot water, while Sir Stephen polished off the pizza and the rest of them got take-out curry to share – Sir Stephen ate a bit of that, too. Robin missed the meal, but finally they heard the water shut off and he emerged a few minutes later, dripping wet and wrapped in a fluffy pink bathrobe. Without a word to any of them he flopped face-first onto the other bed, and was apparently asleep by the time he hit the mattress.

As they sorted the pizza boxes and take-out containers into garbage and recycling, Allen took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Nat.

“I know you can look after yourself,” said Allen, “and I know you don’t think I’m your father. I just didn’t want to feel like I’d failed you again.”

Nat sighed. After being angry with his inaction earlier, she was now angry about his initiative. He must feel like he couldn’t do anything right, and even as annoyed as she was, it was hard not to also feel some sympathy for him. “You know what they say about the road to hell, right?” she asked. “I know what you were trying to do, but please don’t do it again. I don’t want to see you kill anybody.” Nat was quite sure now that Allen wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.

“I don’t want to kill anybody either,” he said, “but I had to do something.”

“No, you didn’t,” Nat said firmly. “Next time, think about whether you could kill somebody, and ask yourself if it’s worth having that on your conscience. Think how you’d feel if Robin had died… what would you say to Mrs. Francis about it?”

Nat’s own conscience was a stunted thing – she’d been raised not to have one, and trying to develop it now was a painful, drawn-out process that happened in fits and starts. Sometimes it would lie dormant for days at a time, or duck out of sight to let her do something like shoot Nazis on Flotta, but then it would bubble up again with a vengeance to make her feel guilty about things that weren’t even entirely her fault, like the death of the HYDRA survivor under the Red Death’s spell. It became stronger the longer she abstained from doing anything awful, and the reverse was also true: the more of a terrible thing she did, the less bad she felt about it. Now that Allen had stabbed somebody once, it would be easier to do next time.

Allen nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t hurt him too badly, I… I don’t know.” He hung his head. “I have no idea what I’m doing here anymore.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” said Nat. “Next time, don’t just do the first thing that pops into your head because you feel like you have to do something. Have a specific goal in mind to accomplish before you act, and be sure it’s important. If you can’t come up with that, then the best thing to do is stay out of the way. It’s not cowardice,” she added. “It’s knowing your limits.”

“That’s good advice,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Although the way he said it, Nat could tell he still felt like dead weight.

He was supposed to be her father, she thought, and yet here she was, in a sense mothering him. “Get some sleep,” she suggested. “It’s gonna be another long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Natalie,” he said.

“Natasha,” she corrected.

It was meant to be an olive branch, a gift of sorts. She hadn’t yet told any of the others her real name – or at least the name she called herself in her head, which was about as close as any name of hers could come. All it did, however, was remind Allen that she wasn’t who he thought she was. How could she be his daughter when he didn’t even know her name?

“Natasha,” he said sadly. “Sleep well.”

#fanfic #natasha romanov #black widow #steve rogers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #sharon carter #agent 13 #clint barton #hawkeye

4 notes · View notes

wrotetheaboveoftoday · 4 years ago

Text

1825 Thurs. 15 September

In which the church organ is awkwardly placed, the ponds are too small, and AL is on one about being a ‘person of distinction’

8 40/60 10 Q Awoke at six this morning and had two good kisses at once but fell quietly asleep on getting in to bed last night Breakfast at 10 - 3/4 hour seeing the church - a fine building spoilt in the interior by the arrangement of the pewing, and by the fine high pointed steeple being closed in even with the rest of the roof of the church, and the organ awkwardly placed under the great arch dividing one side of the steeple from the chancel - the steeple standing off the building between the nave and chancel and and transepts, cathedralwise - the north transept forms the chapel and burying place of the Boothbys, and before them of the Cockaines

Here we stood above 25 minutes gazing at that most beautiful monument by Banks erected to the memory of the only child of the late Sir Brooke Boothby, a lovely girl of seven years old who died about 19 years ago - the monument is a whole length likeness of the child sleeping - on each of the 4 sides of the tomb is an epitaph written by Sir Brooke B- [Boothby] - one in English one in Latin one in Italian and one in French - the one line above the rest in English is ‘I was not in safety, neither was I at rest, and the trouble came’ - the woman who shewed the monument remembered the child who was one of extraordinary intellect and beauty and died of a fortnight’s illness - water in the head

The ground is so raised around the church as to make it quite damp - workmen were employed excavating it all round the building for about a yard in breadth and then walling up the outside (to prevent the ground falling in) like a trench.

The carriage took us up at the churchyard gate, and we were off to Alton abbey at 12 10/60 - on turning from the high road (paid for 9 miles the distance little more than 8) 2 1/2 miles from the abbey, the road bad and very steep - Lord Shrewsbury has a better private road this way, but we could not get the key - passed Wallerton house, a fine looking towerlike house of the period of queen Elizabeth, [colonel][?] a Mr. Patten Wilson’s, about 2 1/2 or 2 miles from Alton, finely situated on a rising ground on the acclivity of the hill - drove to the Shrewsbury Arms Farley, a tolerable house, and pretty comfortable looking inn - very civil people - got out there at 2 10/60 - the abbey not shewn - Lord Shrewsbury there now - there 9 months in the year - the house not finished - the grounds, if we saw them all, would take us 5 hours.

Mr. Orrell very civilly gave us his private ticket that he was allowed to lend to ‘persons of distinction’, and that would admit us to see both the gardens and the tower - ordered dinner and set off to walk to the abbey perhaps about 1/2 mile distant, at 2 20/60 - very pretty piebald sheep pasturing in front of the house could only learn they came from his lordship’s palace in Nottinghamshire

Our first coup d’oeil of the gardens on passing thro’ the arched gateway that opened upon there perfectly astonishment, and we stood for a moment or 2 in mute astonishment at the most grotesque, unique, and striking view we had ever beheld of this valley of wood rock and gardens - chinese temples - gardens in all tastes - a magnificant conservatory in the Chinese style - fine views of the grounds and of the adjoining country from the topmost walks - we went everywhere but along the rock walk which was too wet, the grass being rather long - a few drops of rain while we were in the gardens - we had a fine view of the village of Alton and its old ruined castle - then went to the tower containing a very interesting collection of models in wax by Percy - likenesses of celebrated persons, and some excellent fancy pieces - there is an unfinished model of prince Leopold on which Percy was employed only a few minutes before his death - fine prospect from the top of this tower - 152 steps to the top - nobody admitted within it but ‘persons of distinction’ - it would not do to admit the rabble to such a place - the gardener had asked us as a great favor to admit some respectable people, farmers, friends of his along with us which, of course, we declined

Boards put up to say Lord S- Shrewsbury allowed none of his servants to take money from visitors - yet the gardener who, by the way, soon left us to go to another party took our 1/2 crown and the woman at the tower our 2/- and the man, who chanced to shew us the way to the tower, took 1/- - the gardener worked till 10 o’clock, then put on his drab and scarlet livery and had nothing to do but shew the garden to strangers - himself and 14 more people men and women (I thiink he said) employed in the gardens - several workmen employed finishing the greenhouse, and painting the conservatory - at the top of the chinese-like tower overlooking the garden M- [Mariana] had met with a reverend Mr. Manwairing who lives (in margin - Alton abbey may be seen any day -) about 3 miles from Lawton - he said much had been done by lord S- Shrewsbury within the last few years - at first he did and undid so that little progress was made.

I chiefly regretting the woods being almost entirely fir and larch, and there being a mock bridge over the water in front of the house - the one side of the bridge with 7 or 8 mock arches, looked very well as we approached the house, but on discovering the cheat, I could not help regretting that the water had not been left out of the scheme, and the deceit rendered useless - the water in the gardens is the worst part of the concern - in too small patches - too much like stew-ponds - too insignificant - in the center one of these ponds is a temple of Grecian architecture about three quarters finished - the roof not put on, but in progress - got back to the inn to dinner at 5 1/2 - Mr. Orrell not keeping post horses gets them all from Cheadle, 3 miles off - they said the road Mr. Bright the jeweller at Buxton told us of, by Farley Bolton house, Oncourt or Honcourt, and Longnor to Buxton, 16 miles, was impassable, and we must go round by Leek to which from Farley it was 11 miles and 12 thence to Buxton, making 23 miles (tho’, in point of fact, not more than 22 miles)

A tolerable dinner - toughish beefsteaks and bad soup - pretty fair pint of port - off from Farley at 6 20/60 - the road hilly the first 3 or 4 miles but pretty good - too thick over the hills to see much of the country - we seemed to be traversing a common almost the whole way - got to Leek at 7 40/60 by my watch, but just as the Leek church clock was striking - stopt at the only post-house in the place, close to the church a handsome looking building - determined to go forwards - sat in the carriage 35 minutes - waited 10 minutes after the fresh horses were put to the carriage when, the people not being able to find a driver - had been to look for the one we ought to have had at 7 public houses in vain (the drivers would not go at that time of night) we quietly ordered the horses to be taken off again, went into the house sat while our bedroom was prepared, and went upstairs to bed at 9 1/4 by the Leek clock - having curled our hair downstairs - Had each a glass of red wine negus and some bread and butter and got into a very comfortable bed at 10 - O.. - a few drops of rain at intervals during the day - but tolerably fine day on the whole -

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #mariana lawton #alton abbey #1825

0 notes

chriskarrtravelblog · 5 years ago

Text

10 of Britain’s Best Hotels for Valentine’s Day

From a palatial Italianate mansion in parkland on the Thames to a loch-side Scottish hunting lodge, via a picture-perfect Cotswold village and the wilds of Romney Marsh, The Good Hotel Guide recommends 10 of Britain’s best hotels for Valentine’s Day.

CLIVEDEN HOUSE HOTEL, TAPLOW, BERKSHIRE

William Waldorf Astor once owned this Italianate ducal ‘summer palace’ above the Thames. He shipped in from Rome the Fountain of Love and a balustrade from the Villa Borghese, installed the Rococo French dining room, then made a gift of the lot to his eldest son, Waldorf, and Waldorf’s bride, Nancy Langhorne. In the 1950s the walled outdoor pool would set the scene for the Profumo affair. Rooms, some with alfresco hot tub, are furnished with antiques and original artwork. Pleasure grounds and woodlands are in the care of the National Trust. ‘Romantic indulgence’ packages include red roses, champagne, and use of the spa.

B&B £445–£1,535. Tasting menu £98, à la carte £73. Romantic indulgence package £325 per person. 01628 668561, clivedenhouse.co.uk

THE ROYAL CRESCENT HOTEL AND SPA, BATH, SOMERSET

Behind the honeyed facade of adjoining town houses at the centre of this sublime Georgian crescent where Jane Austen would walk after church, this five-star hotel offers views across the city to the fore, with a manicured acre of garden behind. Interiors blend heritage colours and antique furnishings with modern comforts and original artworks. A ‘totally indulgent’ Valentine’s Day package includes chocolates, champagne, and unlimited use of the Spa and Bath House with hot tub and vitality pool. There is fine dining in the Dower House restaurant, or book ahead and come by for a decadent afternoon tea.

B&B from £330–£960, à la carte £72, tasting menu £82,Valentine’s weekend D,B&B package £940 for 2 nights, afternoon tea £37.50. 2 nights min stay Sat. 01225 823333, royalcrescent.co.uk

LIME WOOD, LYNDHURST, HAMPSHIRE

At the heart of the New Forest, where deer, cattle and ponies roam, every modern comfort is laid on at this updated Georgian lodge, favourite haunt of celebrities. You’ll find a beautiful spa, Italian-inspired cooking by Luke Holder and Angela Hartnett, roaring log fires in welcoming lounges. Even ‘cosy’ bedrooms have a king-size bed, a bath with forest views and a separate shower. Most romantic are the cabins built out over a lake, with a balcony on three sides, triple-aspect picture windows, and an alfresco bathtub.

Room £345–£1,250. Breakfast £22, à la carte £65. 1-night bookings refused most weekends.02380 287177, limewoodhotel.co.uk

BARNSLEY HOUSE, BARNSLEY, GLOUCESTERHSIRE

Fires burn in snug lounges, there’s an in-house cinema and a room for every budget at this 17th-century Cotswold stone manor house and its sister and neighbour, The Village Pub, each supplied with coffee machine, fluffy robes and upmarket toiletries. Most romantic are the ‘secret hideaway’ Potting Shed suite with private garden and wood-burning stove, and the Rosemary Verey Suite with a bath tub for two, a garden-inspired four-poster and a courtyard conservatory and grotto. It was Verey, who, with husband David, from the 1950s, created the magical gardens. Produce from the potager appears on Francesco Volgo’s enticing seasonal menus.

B&B double £280–£650 (pub from £109), à la carte £45 (pub £35). 01285 740000, barnsleyhouse.com

LANGAR HALL, LANGAR, NOTTINGHAMSHIRE

You can sleep in Barbara Cartland’s old room at this apricot-washed Georgian mansion set in parkland in the Vale of Belvoir, or maybe go for Bohemia, with poetry on the walls and a canopy bed. When the late Imogen Skirving first opened her home to paying guests, she wanted them to feel they had been invited to dinner by dear friends, and her granddaughter Lila Aurora runs the place in that spirit. Raise a Bellini in the bar. Dine on such dishes as home cured goose ham, foie gras, cep, wild garlic capers; roast Belvoir partridge; vanilla cheesecake, passionfruit, coconut sorbet.

B&B £150–£225, dinner (Fri, Sat) £54.50, other nights £39–£44.50. 01949 860559, langarhall.com

HOTEL ENDSLEIGH, MILTON ABBOT, DEVON

In landscaped parkland laid out by Humphry Repton, with the River Tamar running through, this cottage orné was built by Jeffry Wyatville as a fishing lodge for the Duke of Bedford and his Duchess, Georgiana. She bore 12 healthy children then moved in her young artist lover, Edwin Landseer. Hotelier Olga Polizzi’s unerring sense of style is everywhere apparent. Bedford room has a fireplace and original hand-painted wallpaper. Panelled public rooms have antiques and roaring fires. Locally produced, fished and foraged food, beautiful walks, birdsong, champion trees and a star-filled night sky are among many glories.

B&B £205–£460, Valentines dinner £65. 1-night bookings refused Fri, Sat.01822 870000, hotelendsleigh.com

ROMNEY BAY HOUSE, NEW ROMNEY, KENT

Built for Hollywood actress Hedda Hopper by Clough Williams-Ellis, this house stands isolated between the English Channel and golf links. All around lies the wild, evocative landscape of Romney Marsh, haunt of writers and smugglers, with its little stone churches, stoic sheep and whispering reeds. Within, the ambience is welcoming, with cheery log fires. A four-course set dinner of local produce is cooked by chef-proprietor Cinton Lovell and served by candlelight. Clinton’s wife, Lisa, is the perfect hostess. Choose a sea-view four-poster room, wake to a sunrise, spy France through the binoculars provided.

B&B double £110–£164, dinner £49. 01797 364747. romneybayhousehotel.co.uk

THE GORING, LONDON

Your budget might not run to the sumptuous suite where Kate Middleton spent the night before her wedding, but even the Goring’s smallest bedrooms have bespoke furniture, 24-hour room service, mood lighting, Italian linen… This Edwardian hotel is the last of its kind in London to be run by the founding family, and its surprisingly large garden is a green oasis. You can eat Richard Galli’s Michelin-starred food in the David Linley-designed dining room, seafood in Nathan Outlaw’s Siren – or just drop in for afternoon tea, or for cocktails in the bar with resident pianist.

Dine-and-stay packages from £520, afternoon tea from £50 (£62 with a glass of Bollinger). 020 7396 9000, thegoring.com

COES FAEN, BARMOUTH, GWYNEDD

In woodland gardens overlooking the Mawddach estuary, with views of Cader Idris, this adults-only hotel is a stunning conversion of a Victorian lodge. A glass staircase is set into the hillside. Each of the six bedrooms, designed to make the most of the view, has its own unique feature – an ash-wood bath on a slate plinth; a cedar and Welsh slate steam room; velvet armchairs and private widescreen cinema with electric blackout blinds; a hot tub on a private terrace… Dine on Tuscan inspired cooking of local Welsh ingredients in Môr restaurant. Bring the horses – they have stabling.

Fixed-price menu (Wed–Sat) £45–£55. 01341 281632, coesfaen.co.uk

SHIELDAIG LODGE, GAIRLOCH, HIGHLAND

You follow a winding single-track road and pass between gateposts topped with stone eagles, to find this loch-side Victorian hunting lodge surrounded by gardens on a 26,000-acre estate. Bedrooms furnished with antiques have a view of the loch or the walled garden. Some have an in-room roll-top bath. Best is the four-poster suite with a bay window looking out over the water. In the liberator bar there is a choice of 250 whiskies. In the dining room, locally reared meats, estate game, fish and shellfish from the loch, and home-grown produce appear on Jerome Prodaunu’s menus. Romantic-break packages including flowers, chocolates and champagne are available.

B&B £220–£320, fixed-price dinner £39, tasting menu (on request) £59, ‘romantic getaway’ 1-night D,B&B from £450. 01445 741333, shieldaiglodge.com