“YOU!” MRS. BENNET shouted as she hustled from the front door of the Tudor toward the Cadillac Liz was driving. “You have some nerve, young lady! Telling your sisters that Dad and I are selling this house just because you’ve decided it’s time.”

It was shortly after eight A.M. Having set her phone alarm for six o’clock, Liz had sleepily turned off the ringer and not awakened for another hour and forty-five minutes, at which point sunlight was flooding Jasper’s hotel room. As she’d driven along Columbia Parkway, she had rehearsed possible excuses for her whereabouts; to her right, the languid Ohio River had seemed to mock Liz’s agitation.

The moment she pulled into the driveway, Liz’s fears were confirmed: She saw her mother, who wore a cream-colored satin bathrobe and slippers; behind her mother was Jane (looking, Liz noticed for the first time, rather curvy); behind Jane was Mary; and behind Mary were Kitty and Lydia.

Liz pressed her foot against the brake and turned off the engine; surely the way to make a bad situation worse would be by running her mother over. As Liz opened the car door, her mother shouted, “This is not your decision! Do you understand that, Elizabeth? If and when the time comes, it will be your father and I who choose to sell the house.”

To Kitty, Liz said, “Why did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Kitty retorted.

“It wasn’t Kitty,” Jane said. “I thought Mom knew.”

“You don’t get to waltz in and tell us what to do!” Mrs. Bennet’s face had become scarlet.

“Where am I supposed to live?” Mary asked.

“You’ll live here!” Mrs. Bennet said. “You’ll live just where you always have.”

“Get on the Internet and find an apartment, Mary,” Liz said. “It’s 2013. That’s what people do.”

“I know you and Jane think you’ve been terribly helpful with your organic vegetables and your opinions about how we can all improve ourselves,” Mrs. Bennet said. “But who do you think was making dinner for the last twenty years while you were enjoying yourselves in New York? Do you imagine I let your father and sisters go hungry?”

“We’ve been trying to make your life easier,” Liz said.

“We never meant to step on your toes, Mom,” Jane added. “We wanted to free up your time so you can focus on the Women’s League luncheon.”

“Everyone likes Mom’s food better than yours,” Kitty said to her older sisters.

“Do you know how you can make my life easier?” Mrs. Bennet, who was three inches shorter than Liz, drew herself up, scowling. “You can stop meddling in matters that are none of your business.”

It was at this point that Mr. Bennet, whose emergence from the Tudor had gone unnoticed, cleared his throat. “Lizzy’s not wrong about the house, and you know it, Sally,” he said. “We do need to sell. Girls, clear out your rooms and start looking for other living arrangements.”

Mrs. Bennet looked aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Mr. Bennet said. “Tempora mutantur, my dears.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared to be gasping for air. “I thought one of the girls would eventually live in the house with her own family.”

“Me,” Lydia said. “I’m going to.”

Mr. Bennet seemed defeated as he said, “Then I suggest you find a leprechaun and abscond with his pot of gold.”

Gently, Jane asked her sisters, “Have you guys ever thought of temping?”

“What do you care?” Lydia said to Jane. “You’re about to skip town.” She looked at Liz. “And you don’t really live here, either. You two are carpetbaggers.”

Mrs. Bennet’s tone was newly hopeful as she said, “Jane, maybe you and Chip can buy the house.”

An uncomfortable expression passed over Jane’s face, then she squared her shoulders. “Chip and I have broken up,” she said.

“Really?” Mary said. “You mean you’re no longer going out with the guy who’s shooting a dating show right now in California? I’m shocked.”

“Oh, Jane.” Mrs. Bennet sounded bereft. “Now you’ll never have children.”