Skylands Manor is the writer’s paradise. It is sprawling, rolling hills, is it decrepit fountains, it is aged stone statues styled for Artemis and Diana and Aphrodite, arms missing, moss coloring their feet. It is tucked away corners where rakish lords can seduce adventurous ladies, great lawns, perfect for early morning duels, the hope of ballrooms and back patios, where one escapes the oppressive heat but finds a new type of heat in the arms of a lover.