Rochester arrives not as a departure from what Roanoke suggested but as its fulfillment, the estate's proportions settling into a quieter authority here where the land flattens just enough to let the limestone foundation walls speak without competition. The bourbon country vernacular deepens in this stretch, heavy timber lintels framing views that pull the rolling Kentucky pastureland into every room as though the architecture were designed to serve the horizon rather than contain it. There is a confidence in how the materials meet at every joint—the way copper downspouts have aged to that particular verdigris that money cannot rush—and it lends Rochester the feeling of a place that has been earning its character for decades. What waits beyond, where Rock Hill begins to assert itself, will test whether that confidence can climb.