Excerpts From the November 2014 Vogue, Presented Without Commentary

Our destination the next day is the Holy Grail: Castle Gravenwezel, the home of Axel and May Vervoordt. Axel’s son Boris, a model of courtly hospitality and courtly proffered knowledge, leads us there in his crocodile-green Rolls-Royce Corniche.

Then, in a surreal change of mood, it is off to the leafy countryside, to a picnic hosted by William Holloway, who cofounded 1stdibs, and his partner, the decorator Jean-Louis Deniot, in their nineteenth-century faux-Renaissance château in Chantilly (one of their nine properties).

Very few men are heart-stoppingly beautiful, in the way glorious women or racehorses or specimen roses unarguably are, so meeting a bona fide male dazzler, with fan sites sprawled across the web, is interesting.

He’s also planning an annual fund-raiser. “Who isn’t going to want to come to a great dancing party at the Paris Opera?” he asks, pointing out an ornately decorated room backstage where pretty Degas ballerinas once congregated while gentlemen admirers ogled them from a concealed balcony above.

Some classics are untouchable, so sacred they could fall under the protection of the Landmarks Preservation Commission. The Laguiole corkscrew with a bone handle, the Dark and Stormy, the Vans lace-ups you wear on weekends: There’s little point in trying to improve on perfection.

The gloom of the gym can’t compare with the buzz of a gallop along honeysuckle-strewn hedges with wild buzzards flying overhead.

My fitness regimen now consists of hunting twice a week during the winter and relaxed hacks with friends from our Gloucestershire farm during the spring.

The other members of the group — which included Jemma Mornington, who does dressage competitively; her husband, Arthur Mornington, an utterly fearless horseman; and Jo Bamford, whose mother, Carole, has bred several Ascot winners — were intimidating, to say the least.

“This is going to be a long day,” sighed Arthur from the back of his champion dapple-gray show jumper.

I’d already heard via the horsey grapevine that Antonia Davies, the glamorous chatelaine at Admington — a mother of four and an accomplished decorator and equestrienne — was running a very chic, very exclusive, very occasional riding clinic where the smart set had been going to brush up on their skills.

After we’d moved to the Gloucestershire countryside a year or so before from London, I’d started foxhunting. Our local pack — -grandly titled the Duke of Beaufort’s Hunt — -is as famous for its exquisite country as for its dress code.

Bliss, I’d thought as our tires crunched up the immaculate gravel drive. Dense hornbeam hedges formed a corridor toward the Jacobean wing of the house and round toward the grand Georgian stone front.

It’s a grown-up, more-wordly iteration of Eastern-influenced boho. This saffron dress would look just as at home at a benefit in Milan or Manhattan as it would partying with the band in Morocco.

Dylan fans back in the day loved the flounces and busy patterns of Biba — and the new bohemians have fallen hard for similarly romantic, ethereal fabrics grounded by solid leather accessories. Michael Kors floral-print chiffon dress, $3,995.

The flared pant — especially one with a higher waist — delivers that Grateful Dead-at-the-Château-D’Hérouville vibration of aristo-tinged decadence.

This crisscrossed-and-gridded dress-on-dress ensemble blends knit and stretchy lines and checks with ease. Don it for dancing along at Usher’s fall tour, which hits New York and L.A. this month.

Proper, but with a dash of innovation: It’s a great recipe for a cold-weather baby llama-and-wool blouson. Tout this at the opening night of The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1.

The best time to visit José Ignacio, the Uruguayan fishing village turned resort town, might just be before its glamorous winter season, when the pristine coastline offers up its charm without the attending crowds.

All over the country, women once devoted to a single cult class- the religious spinners, dance-cardio fanatics, and barre loyalists among them — are realizing that repeating the same routine every few days not only gets boring, it’s likely neglecting key muscle groups, too.

The plume, or feather — first seen in diamonds in Coco Chanel’s debut fine-jewelry collection in 1932 — popped up amid the otherworldly embroidery and icy embellishment in Karl Lagerfeld’s fall couture collection.

The nonchalant beauty recently walked right into a Lancôme contract, too, and without really trying. That thing about French girls? It’s true.

Jodorowsky is casually cool and bewitchingly pretty, with dark brown hair — the right length, the right amount of rumple — and the sort of lit-from-within complexion that renders it impossible to detect if she is wearing any makeup.

Menswear designer Robert Geller and his wife, Ana Lerario Geller, outgrew their Financial District apartment with the arrival of their first daughter, Luna. So they thought they’d do what so many young New York City families do: move to Brooklyn. After a Richard Meier building off Prospect Prk didn’t live up to expectations, their realtor suggested a brownstone.

For Luna’s recent birthday party, Ana and Robert hand-sewed buccaneer costumes for the kids. “They ended up looking like little Ann Demeulemeester vests,” Robert says with a laugh.

My recent trip by yacht from the coast of Montenegro to Croatia was one of my favorites ever.

While in Dubrovnik, we ate lunch on Sipan island at the dreamlike Konoba Kod Marka. (The octopus burgers are a must!)

I have a confession to make: I have been to very few of my brother, Albert’s, races. This despite his being so passionate about the sport, despite his driving a slick Lamborghini, and despite his quite impressive international success.

I didn’t realize that all the other flag-carrying girls would be wearing skintight jeans or leather pants with sky-high pumps. Not exactly my style, of course, and since it was a scorching-hot day, I had opted for my little Proenza Schouler palm-print dress.