We get a real mix of weather on our Friday-to-Sunday stay, and I can confidently confirm Edenhall is as lovely in the summer sun as it is when cosily shrouded with mist. On our first evening, we drive down one of the estate’s backroads in a Land Rover the owners kindly lend us, stopping by a slow-flowing river for a campfire and champagne – the latter which feels at once in and out of place in this grand yet utterly wild slice of heaven.
While the property is self-catered and Penrith’s grocery shops are a 10-minute drive away, the estate’s private chef, Elliot, becomes our fairy godfather for the weekend. He’s the kind of quiet talent who whips up exactly what you didn’t know you were craving: on the first tonight, we deem the lasagne – which wash down with a bottle of Médoc round the kitchen table in pyjamas – the best we’ve ever had. (And it was gluten-free!) Come night two, after a day of wandering down the estate’s wildflower-shrouded trails and lounging on our private lake’s dock, we wander into the dining room, where we’re met with filet mignon perfected with a dash of Cointreau, and chocolate mousse for dessert. “The anaemic girlies are happy,” declares my friend, setting down her fork.
Being an extension of a property that operates as a hotel, if you’re more of a hands-off type you’ll be pleased at the option to take advantage of Edenhall’s services and more widely-available amenities, like its courtyard gym or massages. But we’re more than happy enough with our on-property sauna and hedge-wrapped hot tub, both positioned for an easy glimpse of Juno, the deer who might be the estate’s unofficial pet and somewhat of a local mascot. “How is dear Juno?” an elderly woman asks Mark Holden-Hindley as he rolls down the car window to greet her on our drive to the house. The half-empty KP peanuts in our pantry, it seems, are really there for her afternoon snack, should she wander up to any of the French doors.