Five suites and one two-bedroom residence. Each is a single, considered atmosphere — colour, light, texture, the kind of silence you wake into. There is no central air; the windows open. Lights brighten as you arrive.
A velvet bay opens onto a single, framed wave — your private weather, held in glass and copper light. Built for the moment between lunch and the long afternoon.
Moss, slate, and morning grass. A room composed in the cool half of the palette — for those who travel to think. South-facing, garden-side, and at its best at six in the morning.
A circular bed under a square chandelier; vertical rivers of oak and a balcony that frames the sky like a still life. Cinematic at golden hour.
A floating bed lit from beneath, a sage door, three pendants like falling embers. Our most photographed quiet room — and the best for couples who travel light.
A two-bedroom residence with its own dining room, brass chandelier and ink-blue conversation wall. For families, for slow weeks, for the way an Indian winter is meant to be spent.
Our smallest, most affectionate room — a single window, a tall daybed, a desk that looks at the rope-walk. Booked most often by writers, and twice this year by the same painter.