Americans increasingly go gaga for the Cotswolds because it’s become the unofficial stage set for anyone looking to cosplay a Nancy Meyers holiday film in real life (guilty as charged, this editor must confess). But on a recent visit to Lucknam Park, a sprawling Cotswolds estate-turned-hotel, what I kept overhearing wasn’t about Cameron Diaz sweaters or Jude Law’s spectacles.
It was about money — and taste — and, more importantly, the rare places that manage to marry the two.
“This is the kind of place someone with taste and money — and who isn’t afraid to spend it — would build,” a fellow guest declared while ogling the handsome bookcases stuffed with leatherbound volumes and the tastefully upholstered furniture overlooking the expansive grounds.
Behind the sass was a truth: There’s an almost ineffable rightness about Lucknam Park, a nearly thousand-year-old property (the Palladian mansion dating to 1720 is practically a toddler at just over 300) that draws guests with its meandering pathways, never-ending gardens and ample activities to spend a night or two (or several more, if you’re wise).
This fall, it was anointed the official debut of Accor’s Emblems Collection, the company’s newest upper-luxury imprint. Launching a modern brand with a property that predates the concept of “hotel” itself is delightfully cheeky — but also the point. If you want to tell the world your new brand is built on discernment, restraint and authentic luxury, why not begin with a place that’s been doing just that for centuries?
A Brand Built on Saying “No”
Luxury hospitality is loud these days — so loud that new brands often feel like press-release theater rather than thoughtful additions to the landscape. Soft collections multiply by the month, becoming catch-alls for owners who don’t want, or can’t maintain, hard-brand standards.
Emblems enters with a sharply opposite ethos.
“We’re going to have to say no more than yes,” Accor CEO Sébastien Bazin said during the opening festivities. “We should not be volume driven; we should be super rigorous on which property deserve [the] Emblem.”
“Launching a collection brand doesn’t mean it’s an open background,” added Maud Bailly, CEO of the Emblems Collection as well as Sofitel, Sofitel Legend and MGallery. “Going too fast, too broad is a way to kill them.”
(Emblems Collection)
In a world obsessed with scale, Emblems chooses curation. In an era of instant branding, it chooses the slow burn. Its early evolution reflects that discipline: Emblems was first introduced with a potential Chinese debut, but the construction pipeline shifted — as all pipelines do these days — and the brand recalibrated.
Arriving at Lucknam Park feels like stumbling into the establishing sequence of a British period drama: long, tree-tunneled pathways, horses grazing in the morning mist and an ivy-adorned Palladian mansion gradually revealing itself like a grand stage set. Inside, the library fire crackles beside deep sofas and leather chairs that practically demand several hours of your time — ideally with a book and a drink. Staff greet you with that confident warmth reserved for places that have hospitality in their bones.
And the intimacy — just 42 rooms and suites, plus nine cottages spread across sprawling acreage — sets the tone immediately. My own Peacock Suite, part of the Cottage Suite category occupying what were once the estate’s original stables, came with a four-poster bed, heated bathroom floors, classical music drifting softly at turndown and a soaking tub that became the perfect warm-up after a day of wandering the grounds.
“Intimacy is really the key word which will define Emblems — a kind of quiet luxury,” Bailly said.
Lucknam Park embodies that definition so completely it feels almost purpose-built for the brand, despite predating Emblems by, well, nearly a millennium.
The Emblems Identity
The Emblems team likes to talk about the brand’s “markers,” but these are best understood not as a checklist but as subtle threads woven through Lucknam Park.
Start with the estate’s chosen “emblematic ingredient,” the Wiltshire apple. It doesn’t appear in overt fashion but as an elegant through-line: a pastry here, a garnish there — whether you’re at breakfast in the breezy Walled Garden restaurant or lingering over a tasting menu at the Michelin-starred Restaurant Hywel Jones.
“I am not saying you will only eat apples for your entire stay,” Bailly joked, but the subtle presence is intentional and grounding.
(Emblems Collection)
Then there’s the “Master of the House,” Emblems’ signature service role. Introductions here aren’t the stilted welcome affair found at other ultra-luxury brands; instead, you realize someone gently anticipates when you’re returning from a walk or heading to dinner — attentive but never intrusive.
Literature surfaces quietly: a line of Wordsworth tucked into a guest-room anthology, a curated selection of countryside volumes, a bookmark left beside the kettle. It deepens the sense of place without ever feeling staged. Consider it the kind of book club one actually looks forward to.
The estate’s cinematic quality is undeniable. The dusky light across the paddocks, the glow of cottage windows at night, the spa’s near-monastic hush — all of it creates the kind of visual memory that stays with guests long after checkout (even if that near-monastic hush led to my stellar facial doubling as a quick nap to combat jet lag before dinner).
High tea, anchored by the Emblems travel cake (each location will have its own recipe), brings the mood full circle. Nothing feels formulaic; everything feels curated.
That emotional coherence matters because Lucknam Park may be the opening chapter, but the wider Emblems universe is quickly forming.
(Emblems Collection)
Accor has already signed seven Emblems hotels, with another 15 in advanced negotiation, and aims for roughly 60 by 2032. Early openings point toward cliffside hideaways in Greece, forest sanctuaries near Delphi, Italian villas with frescoes older than some nations and — notably — North America’s first Emblems at The Rimrock in Banff, where a full renovation will position it as a mountain flagship.
These aren’t brand-lite conversions. They’re properties with presence, with that unmistakable “someone with money and taste built this” energy that guests clock instantly. Or at least, that was the unanimous conclusion from my own gossipy tea table one afternoon.
Luxury travelers don’t want ubiquity anymore. They want emotional gravity. They want places that feel singular and storied.
“Luxury is far more about sense of belonging,” Bailly said. “When you’re staying in [an Emblems], the ambition is to give you this sense of belonging.”
(Emblems Collection)
That naturally lends itself to longer stays and deeper engagement. Bazin underscored this with a nod to estate life: Guests often stay longer to experience the full rhythm of a place — clay shooting, trail walks, equine programs, lingering meals and the sheer pleasure of doing nothing somewhere extraordinary.
For advisors, that means higher-value bookings and a brand offering something genuinely new in a saturated space: intentionality.
Emblems Collection may be new, but Lucknam Park is a strong nod to the brand’s future legacy — one that whispers instead of shouts, curates instead of collects and makes the case that the next chapter of quiet luxury will be written slowly, thoughtfully and with impeccable taste.
If the future of quiet luxury looks like this, consider me happily resigned to listening closely.
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