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For those of us whose ancestors failed to hover close enough to Charles II’s court as he doled out titles, visiting a stately pile can have the Brideshead effect: a wide-eyed, dry-mouthed ogle at the architectural splendour, the watercolour gardens and sheer grandeur of it all. And though most of these family seats have fallen under the auspices of the stanchion-obsessed National Trust, a clever few have mobilised their whopping assets and marched into the 21st century, roof and seat fully intact.
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