Top Quiet Luxury Destinations for Your Late Summer Escape

When two names as storied as WOLF and Liberty meet, the result is more than a collaboration: it is an affirmation of heritage in an age of fleeting trends. WOLF, the family-owned house that has been creating jewellery cases and watch winders since 1834, and Liberty, the London institution celebrating its 150th anniversary this year, share a common philosophy: beauty and craft must endure. It’s the marriage of two heritage-rich British brands that have always been about more than just beautiful objects. They’re about storytelling, legacy, and the small rituals that turn everyday life into something exquisite. I met Simon Wolf, the fifth-generation CEO of his family’s business, just before the launch. There’s a steadiness about him, the kind you only find in people carrying nearly two centuries of tradition on their shoulders. “This collection is about more than looking after your jewellery,” he explained. “It’s about design that lasts, and design that means something.” That conviction is embedded in WOLF’s history: when Philipp Wolf I began his boxmaking business in 1834, it was with the belief that the way you present something is as important as the object itself. For Liberty, the timing could not be more significant. The store, with its Tudor revival façade and labyrinth of patterned interiors, has become London’s most eccentric temple of taste. This year’s 150th anniversary is marked by a calendar of exhibitions and collaborations, all honouring Arthur Lasenby Liberty’s mission not to follow fashion, but to define it. In that spirit, WOLF feels like a natural partner—another house rooted in the belief that design should endure across generations. The collection itself takes two of Liberty’s most celebrated prints and translates them for a contemporary audience. Ianthe , a swirling Art Nouveau motif, is embossed onto sustainable leather in navy and burgundy, while Julia , a 1930s floral, is reimagined in sage green. Jewellery boxes, watch rolls, travel cases and portfolios are finished with silver or gold hardware, each piece lined with Liberty’s unmistakable detailing. They are objects of daily use designed with longevity in mind, thanks to WOLF’s patented LusterLoc™ technology, which protects jewellery from tarnishing for up to 35 years. For Pere Bruach, Liberty’s Design Manager, the collaboration was about more than simply selecting prints. “I was inspired by the metalwork and jewellery of Archibald Knox, a key figure in Liberty’s design legacy,” he said. That influence can be felt in the engineering of the embossed leather, where Liberty’s decorative vocabulary meets WOLF’s functional precision. Together, the brands have created a collection that feels both archival and forward-looking. It’s not seasonal, not trend-led, but purposeful - a quiet kind of luxury that acknowledges the value of history while offering something entirely suited to modern life. The WOLF x Liberty collection is available now at wolf1834.com, Liberty, and select retailers worldwide, with prices ranging from £169 to £945.

There are country house hotels, and then there is Palé Hall. The Relais & Châteaux property, which sits on the edge of Snowdonia, has the sort of pedigree that travel writers love to remind you of: AA Five Red Stars, a Green Michelin Star for sustainability, and an 18-room mansion where every space has its own personality. But this autumn, Palé Hall is less interested in resting on accolades and more focused on giving guests a reason to book a return visit. The hotel has unveiled a collection of new experiences that feel both indulgent and quietly unexpected. The Hearth, once the 19th-century kitchen of the original house, has been transformed into a private dining room where Head Chef Ed Marsh will host intimate tasting menus. The room keeps its historic cast iron hearth but adds bespoke wallpaper from Liberty James Studio, a touch of theatricality that sets the stage for evenings of storytelling through food and wine. Downstairs, the Wine Cellar has been reimagined as a subterranean refuge for those who take their vintages seriously. It is the kind of space designed for lingering over rare bottles and local Welsh labels, paired with artisan cheeses and charcuterie. The atmosphere is deliberately cocooning, a place to disappear into conversation with a glass in hand. Not every guest will want to spend their time inside. Palé Hall now offers clay pigeon shooting in its grounds, an estate activity that nods to tradition while doubling as a spirited outdoor pursuit. For those who prefer quieter creativity, a new Pottery and Art Studio invites guests to try their hand at the wheel under the guidance of ceramicist Jo-Anna Duncalf. The studio looks onto the gardens and every session ends with a seasonal lunch prepared by the hotel’s chefs. September brings the launch of new wellness spaces, including a gym fitted with NOHRD equipment and treatment rooms for massages and therapies. October will see the opening of a Whisky and Cigar Lounge, complete with leather chairs, wood panelling, and a curated selection of bottles that balances the familiar with the rare. The effect of all this is simple. Palé Hall is making the case that a weekend in the Welsh countryside can be more than just a long walk and a good dinner. It can be an escape for the senses, one that folds together food, wine, wellness, craft, and tradition against a backdrop of autumn colour and mountain air.

This September, Londoners will have a rare chance to explore Japanese wine at its finest. From 9 to 30 September 2025, LUNA Omakase will partner with Château Mercian, Japan’s oldest vineyard, to present an exclusive wine pairing menu at the city’s highest omakase restaurant. Tucked away on the ninth floor of 100 Liverpool Street, LUNA Omakase is a 12-seat dining room with sweeping views of St Paul’s Cathedral. Led by Executive Chef Leonard Tanyag, the restaurant is known for its Sosaku-style Edomae cuisine, a modern interpretation of traditional sushi that follows the twelve phases of the moon. For this special collaboration, Thesleff Group’s Head of Wine and Sake, Michele Orbolato, has curated four Japanese wines that match the precision and artistry of Chef Tanyag’s twelve-course menu. The pairings include the Château Mercian Rivalis Left Bank Chardonnay, which balances rich acidity with tropical fruit, and the Iwade Koshu Ortum, a limited release of just 1,100 bottles with citrus notes and a cooling mineral finish. The Koshu Gris de Gris brings a textural complexity with hints of apricot and Darjeeling tea, while the Mariko Syrah offers depth with spice, dark fruit, and fine tannins. Each has been selected to complement dishes ranging from king crab nigiri to wagyu beef sando, creating a dining experience that is both rare and memorable. Founded in 1870, Château Mercian was the first Japanese winery to adopt French winemaking techniques. Today, it produces award-winning wines across Yamanashi, Nagano, and Fukushima, and continues to shape Japan’s reputation in the global wine industry. For LUNA Omakase, this collaboration marks the first time London diners will be able to experience such a refined collection of Japanese wines in a single sitting. With only twelve seats available per service, the September series is one of the most exclusive dining events in London this year. It combines theatre, intimacy, and a deep respect for Japanese craftsmanship, offering a new perspective on both omakase and wine pairing in the capital. LUNA Omakase x Château Mercian runs from 9–30 September 2025.

There are few places in London where you can slip behind the kitchen door of a private members’ club and be guided through a menu by a chef with two decades at The Dorchester. Yet that is exactly what The Lansdowne Club is offering in its ninetieth year, with a new calendar of intimate one-day masterclasses led by Executive Head Chef Henry Brosi. The Mayfair institution, set within a Georgian mansion with 1930s Art Deco interiors, has long been admired for its discretion and elegance. Now it is inviting both members and non-members to experience its culinary world in a way usually reserved for insiders. Each masterclass welcomes no more than four guests, beginning with breakfast and a Buck’s Fizz in the Club’s Dining Room before moving into the private kitchen for a hands-on tutorial. Under Brosi’s direction, participants prepare seasonal dishes that reflect his signature style, which marries classical finesse with a reverence for British and European produce. The experience concludes with a five-course lunch paired with wines, served in the Dining Room where the atmosphere feels both timeless and quietly indulgent. The programme spans both seasonal and year-round themes. Spring guests might work with asparagus or sea trout, while autumn brings the allure of white truffle. Pasta making, chocolate work, and British shellfish are among the options that appeal to cooks who want to refine their technique while enjoying the intimacy of learning directly from one of London’s most accomplished chefs. Prices begin at £350 per person, a detail that underscores the exclusivity of the offering. In a city where most cooking schools feel either too formal or too commercial, The Lansdowne Club has found an appealing middle ground. The series is intimate, expertly run, and rooted in the atmosphere of a private club that has always attracted those with an appreciation for life’s finer details. It is an anniversary programme that feels celebratory but also quietly confident, an invitation to step inside Mayfair and discover the pleasures of cooking at the side of a master.

Not sure if anyone noticed or cared, but Topshop staged a runway show last week. Yes, Topshop, once the crown jewel of British high street fashion and the Oxford Circus temple where teenagers dragged their parents on Saturday afternoons, made its post-pandemic debut with a splashy open-air spectacle in Trafalgar Square. This was billed as an “iconic” comeback. The British Fashion Council, now under new leadership after Caroline Rush stepped down earlier this year, treated it as a symbolic moment. London fashion was supposedly reclaiming its rightful place on the global stage. The Mayor of London even turned up to bless it all, as though Topshop had revived the industry from the dead. But here’s the thing: nobody was asking for Topshop to come back. And certainly not like this. A Brand Frozen in Time Topshop was once shorthand for accessible cool, the brand that could keep up with the catwalk at a price teenagers could reach with a weekend job. But that was before Shein. Before TikTok micro-trends. Before dropshipping became a business model. Back then, the competition was Zara, H&M, maybe Bershka. Today, the high street is flooded with ultra-fast-fashion retailers producing clothes faster than anyone can scroll through them. In that context, Topshop’s runway show felt like a relic. Rather than offering something new, it leaned heavily on nostalgia. The target audience seemed to be thirty-somethings who once trawled the racks at Oxford Circus while their eardrums were assaulted by blasting indie rock. The problem is simple: we have moved on. The idea that Topshop could turn the clock back is naïve at best and insulting at worst. Ownership Matters Then there is the ownership question. The media painted this as a British fashion revival. But Topshop is now majority-owned by Heartland, the investment company of Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen. ASOS still holds 25 percent, but this is no longer a British brand. To present it as a patriotic victory for London fashion is misleading if not cynical. And Heartland’s first big move? Positioning Topshop inside Liberty. Yes, Liberty, the heritage department store synonymous with craftsmanship, rarity and artistry. Pairing Liberty with a fast-fashion label whose website still cannot produce a coherent sustainability statement is baffling. It weakens Liberty’s prestige while doing nothing to elevate Topshop. Sustainability Theatre Michelle Wilson, a spokesperson for Topshop, has claimed the brand’s higher prices reflect a more sustainable and better-paid supply chain. Customers, she said, are willing to pay for superior quality. Yet the website is silent on sustainability, fair trade, or basic transparency. If this is a new ethical direction, it is absent from anywhere consumers might read about it. Instead, what we saw on the runway was a parade of plastics. Faux leather, faux fur, polyester. If the point was to convince us Topshop had grown up, it only reinforced that the brand remains addicted to cheap synthetics that clog wardrobes and landfills. The opening look was a bubbled faux-leather jacket over a polka-dot dress, tights and boots. The entire composition was synthetic. Topshop used to sell real leather jackets. Now we are offered recession-core knockoffs at PrettyLittleThing prices. The second look was a floor-length Grinch-green faux fur coat at £140. It screamed Love Island circa 2018, not 2025. The third look was the one redeeming moment. A pair of jeans with a decent fit. Denim has always been Topshop’s strong suit. But one good pair of jeans does not justify a runway show. Styling and Inclusivity Beyond the fabrics, the styling was equally uninspired. It felt like a mood board pieced together by someone who last set foot in a Topshop dressing room a decade ago. The references were clear, but the execution lacked freshness. Nostalgia is a powerful tool, but not if the clothes make you nostalgic for the landfill. Inclusivity is another problem. ASOS once built credibility with tall, petite and maternity ranges. Topshop’s relaunch cuts off at size 18. For a brand trying to prove relevance, ignoring large parts of the customer base is a curious choice. Final Thoughts Topshop wanted this show to be its triumphant re-entry into cultural conversation. Instead, it raised uncomfortable questions. Who is this for. What does it stand for. And why should we care. The nostalgia might tug at a few heartstrings. But fashion has moved on. Transparency, innovation and inclusivity are what matter now. Polyester dresses on a runway in 2025 are not enough. Until Topshop figures that out, this is not a revival. It is a rerun.

At Monterey Car Week, where collectors arrive with seven-figure classics and concept cars pose like runway models, a different kind of unveiling stole the spotlight. Aston Martin, the brand of Bond and understated British bravado, has announced a global partnership with Glenfiddich, the single malt Scotch that’s been teaching people to pronounce the word “Glen” properly since the 19th century. On the surface, whisky and cars might not seem like natural bedfellows. One is meant to be savoured slowly in crystal glasses, the other roars down racetracks or idles on Knightsbridge streets outside Harrods. But this collaboration makes a kind of luxurious sense: both brands are built on the alchemy of craftsmanship and performance, and both are searching for ways to turn heritage into experiences that feel relevant for the ultra-wealthy in 2025. To mark the partnership, Glenfiddich unveiled its 1976 Vintage — a 48-year-old single malt so rare only 50 bottles exist. Malt Master Brian Kinsman chose it not just because it’s old enough to remember disco, but because the mid-1970s marked a turning point for both brands. That was the era Glenfiddich put its stag’s head on every bottle and doubled down on innovation with a new still house, while Aston Martin was reimagining what a performance car could look and feel like. In other words: two icons reinventing themselves before anyone even knew they’d become icons. And in case anyone wondered whether a nearly 50-year-old Scotch pairs well with a hypercar, Aston Martin rolled out the Valhalla, its first plug-in hybrid supercar. A name that nods to Norse mythology but in practice means 998 horsepower, Formula One-inspired engineering, and a £600,000 price tag. Think of it as a glimpse into the future of Aston Martin: performance electrified, but with the emotional pull of its combustion ancestors. The 1976 Vintage itself sounds almost edible. Red berry sweetness on the nose, buttery pastry and spice, followed by oak tannins and stewed fruit, with a toasted wood finish that lingers like the scent of a good cigar. The whisky is bottled at 48.8% ABV, but of course you won’t be drinking this after a spin in the Valhalla — the brands are eager to stress they want you to “never drink and drive.” Instead, it’s a trophy bottle, the kind collectors display in temperature-controlled cabinets next to their car keys. The partnership will go beyond this launch. Both brands teased more “exclusive products and experiences” — code, most likely, for ultra-limited whiskies and Aston Martin events where the guest list is tighter than the security. At Monterey, the tie-up was toasted at The House of Aston Martin, complete with a pop-up whisky bar designed to appeal to the kind of collector who sees whisky not just as a drink but as an asset class. So why does this matter? Because it’s another example of how luxury brands are teaming up to sell not just products but lifestyles. Glenfiddich doesn’t just want to be on your bar cart; it wants to be part of your identity, the same way Aston Martin wants to be more than a car. Together, they’re crafting a story of British heritage meeting modern innovation, and they’re doing it with the kind of confidence that assumes their customers have the disposable income to collect both. Only 50 people in the world will get their hands on the 1976 Vintage. A few more will get to own the Valhalla. But for the rest of us, the partnership is still a spectacle — proof that even in an age of digital everything, the rarest forms of luxury are still about what can’t be replicated.